


Chief Engineer: Year One

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Moving Parts [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to bondage, Sex Shop, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Now Trip has made it to Enterprise, he has to work out how to live his dream. Can he rise above Captain Jefferies' warning words all those years ago? Can he really be an explorer? Or will he fail and let everyone down?Stardates: 04-16-2151 to 04-01-2152





	1. Who do we have?

**Author's Note:**

> For year one/season one I’ll be sticking pretty close to canon but I will tweak things here and there with respect to the characterisations I’ve built up in the previous instalments.  
> Most of this fic is wrap arounds for episodes in season 1: all of the episodes covered will be pretty much as they’re broadcast, except for “Two Days and Two Nights”... I have plans for that one. Oh yeah, Risan make-over.
> 
> Warning: rating might change  
> See Notes in Chapter 2 for explanation of the 'implied/referenced sexual assault' tag.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Broken Bow' and 'Fight or Flight'

So actually Trip was right in predicting that he wouldn’t be First Officer aboard _Enterprise._ Hadn’t that been a kick in the teeth? Being informed almost as an after-thought as Starfleet wrestled with the cool, condescending ‘recommendations’ from their Vulcan overseers, Archer harried and frustrated as he rushed to finalise the crew compliment and essential prep before they could launch. Trip understood that they didn’t have a choice as long as Starfleet still bowed down to the Vulcans’ judgement, but the warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach whenever Archer had praised his efforts as First Officer up to that point had flash frozen into a type of cold slush.

The culmination of his resentment was the encounter in Decon. He’d been too angry to even take a cursory glance at the Vulcan woman’s attributes – not that he’d give her the satisfaction of being caught looking – as he’d fought to keep calm and rational, as he’d fought for Jon’s dream, his dream. It had definitely rankled when she had pointed out in that superior tone that her rank superseded his, but in reality, and once he’d had a chance to sit down and think about it, it was a relief to have some of his burdens lifted. Being Chief Engineer was job enough, adding on top the responsibilities of First Officer had made the run up to the launch feel like a serious of nigh impossible tasks. The idea of sustaining that amount of duties and – oh God – paperwork, was definitely not pleasant. Not that Trip wouldn’t have risen to the occasion, but it was nice to have more time for his babies. Chief Engineer was the role he wanted, First Officer he could take or leave. Though that didn’t stop the bitter voice in his head questioning how T’Pol was qualified for the role. Maybe he should share his notes from the Command course with her.

Speaking of the Vulcan officer, he’d been terrified when she’d given the order to leave the Helix – and Jon – behind. The memory of that excruciating scene on the Bridge was enough to give him cold sweats whenever he thought about it. His heart had been an ice block as he’d realised how serious she was, how she’d arrived at the terrible conclusion without even attempting to come up with alternatives. Desperately, he’d thrown Jon saving her in her face, suspecting that the incident had influenced her decision to help them earlier.

He’d leaned in, watching her closely, so he saw the flicker in her eyes even as she stood and said coldly.

“That is a specious analogy.” But she couldn’t fool him; he’d struck a chord.

“Is it?” There was a moment of tense silence as she just stared at him, almost as if... Taking a deep, calming breath, he gave her an out. “It is not logical to leave behind a member of the crew when it is within our power to save him.” She opened her mouth but he steamrolled over her. “ _Enterprise_ has already penetrated the barrier and held its own against those things before,” he almost choked on his next words but forced them out anyway, “we can always retreat if we can’t recover the Captain.”

“It is highly unlikely that either _Enterprise_ or the cell ship would be able to dock with the structure, making our return there pointless-” He interrupted her, having already thought of that.

“We’ll use the transporter if we have to. I don’t know about Vulcans, but humans don’t abandon their own until they’ve exhausted all other options.” As close as they were, he thought he could see the cogs turning behind her eyes. She looked past him and ordered.

“Ensign Mayweather, hard about. Head back to the structure.” Lips pursing slightly, she said to him calmly, as if it hadn’t actually been his idea. “You will need to calibrate the transporter for biomatter transport.” He took a moment to try and check that she wasn’t just pandering to him because she knew ‘how stubborn he could be’. She raised an eyebrow and he just nodded once before hightailing it to the transporter.

The fact that she’d seriously considered leaving Jon behind, probably would have if he hadn’t shouted at her for a good 5 minutes, really disturbed him. He was not pleased to learn that she was staying on and he’d brought his misgivings to the Captain but to no avail.

“We really could use her experience out here.” Captain Archer had said. He’d been using that tone. The one where he was being rational and level-headed but also thought he was right; leaving no room for any other argument, no matter how convincing it may be. That didn’t stop Trip from trying sometimes, even if he knew it was essentially pointless. In this case, the Commander wasn’t short-sighted enough to ignore the Vulcan’s instrumental help in completing the mission; but he still couldn’t ignore the fight to get her to observe common decency. He also wondered, rather uncharitably, if Jon would be as forgiving of the Vulcan Science Officer if her rack hadn’t been as impressive. Trip immediately felt guilty at this thought. That was unfair. Even if Jon was sometimes old-fashioned in the sense that he would treat women more respectfully than men, he wouldn’t let himself show that kind of prejudice in the workplace. Not without being ripped to shreds by officers like Commander Hernandez, anyway. In the end, there wasn’t any argument to win, the decision having been made previously, and so Trip just had to live with the idea of T’Pol looming large over their mission and their lives.

But what if it happened again? What if he couldn’t convince her to give ‘logic’ the middle finger to try and save someone’s life? Trip wasn’t a fool; he knew that sometimes sacrifices had to be made. The Command course had contained case studies from the Eugenics wars, boomer disasters and Starfleet’s early tests, which had demonstrated that sometimes, a commanding officer had to make the hard choice. Few lives in payment for many. But T’Pol had decided to make the hard choice before she’d had to. It was as if she’d been a computer programmed with no subroutines, all that mattered was the mission and any deviation was impossible. A harsh reminder that she wasn’t human and she didn’t value their lives even half as much as a human officer would. As Jon would. Trip felt grim as he considered this; he would have to have some contingency plans for the next time their alien Science Officer was left in Command. His only consolation was that otherwise, she seemed to follow the Captain’s orders to a tee, if reluctantly. She might advise against Archer’s chosen course of action, as with her caution concerning the seemingly abandoned ship which had turned out to be a graveyard, but she’d not turned a hair at executing direct commands.

In any case, he was just glad he hadn’t had to be the one to tell Doctor Horatio that he’d been replaced as Science Officer. That could not have been an easy conversation.

He was doubly glad that the Captain had come up with his own choice for medical officer as that decision had been a major headache. Trip had liaised with Starfleet Medical and come up with some perfectly good candidates which Archer had hummed and hawed at. There hadn’t been any particular reason for dismissing any of them but there was something about doctors, something about someone who might be cutting you open which made people – Jon especially – rely on their gut instincts more than usual. None of Trip’s shortlist clicked with the Captain and Trip had been having a nightmare trying to rustle up some more candidates who would be able to qualify for the mission in time.

Asking Doctor Phlox was a stroke of genius. Why hadn’t Trip thought of looking for people at the Inter-Species Medical Exchange? It made sense to have a doctor experienced in treating different species. Real hands-on experience of practicing medicine outside of their galaxy was almost unheard of in human doctors. The members of the Medical Exchange were all qualified for space travel as well. The doctor himself was very amiable, if a little too interested in observing human social behaviours. Trip hadn’t known whether to be disturbed or highly amused by Phlox’s interpretation of the behaviour of two crewmen sitting sedately in the Mess Hall together. Despite that, he knew if he did ever need the doctor’s professional attention, he’d be in safe hands…He’d just have to watch for any incidents popping up in alien medical journals. When he’d checked in with the medical team a few days after the Klang incident, he’d been happy to find that none of them had any problems serving under Phlox’s command and indeed many were just as interested in working with the Denobulan as he was with them.

Another excellent choice was Hoshi Sato: linguist extraordinaire. She was very young, only 21, and there had been an incident concerning a poker game and a CO’s arm; but it said something that she’d been let back into Starfleet only a month after being suspended. Apparently they’d had to beg a bit too, as she’d hardly been hurting for career opportunities and space was not exactly in her comfort zone. She’d been on a training tour when they’d been interviewing candidates so they’d only been able to get a vid interview. Archer had been impressed by her knowledge of languages and her friendly demeanour – whilst he was technically a diplomat, it wouldn’t hurt for the first line of communication to be a welcoming one. The only concerns had been her at times nervous disposition and obvious inexperience but Archer theorised that solving the latter would cure the former. Trip was glad to see him proven right as Sato overcame her nerves during their encounter with the Axanar, especially after witnessing such a grisly scene on the derelict ship. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to keep his composure at her age. When she’d told him she was going to ask Archer to take her home, he’d been disappointed but not surprised and decided not to mention this to the Captain, hoping she’d change her mind. Once Travis had told him of her success on the Bridge when their butts had really been in the fire, Trip happily took Hoshi’s nerves off his list of things to worry about.

Said resident boomer, Travis Mayweather, was also proving to be a brilliant choice. Despite the devilishly tricky manoeuvres he’d been required to perform the first couple of days, he’d kept cool under pressure and remained an upbeat presence on the Bridge. Trip heard from others that the young man was also a good person to have around on the graveyard shift, providing jokes and anecdotes and banter to keep the boredom at bay. There had been a note in his file about suspected participation in a number of pranks during his training, which had endeared him to Trip during the selection process; though he doubted that had been a contributing factor in Archer’s decision. Whilst a good number of the crew had experience in space, their helmsman definitely held the record for most amount of years serving on ships and his experience would doubtlessly prove very valuable.

Mayweather was also the only one of the Bridge crew to take up Trip’s offer to call him by his nickname, the others still persisting with ‘sir’ or ‘Commander’ – Trip made a note to work on that. Perhaps it was because the boomer was new to the rigid, naval-style of Starfleet. Being more used to the informal style on cargo freighters, he was more open to looser inter-rank relationships. You could show your father, the Captain, respect, but he was still your father and affection had to have bled through into everyday relations on duty. To Trip, Travis also had the added bonus of being close to the ever elusive Armoury Officer; the pair having done their training course together (though Reed had only been taking the refresher version, having joined Starfleet a year before Trip himself).

Charisma was a useful attribute for Bridge Crew, but it wasn’t a requirement; as evidenced by Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Frighteningly competent, tightly contained and a consummate professional, the Senior Armoury Officer had far outstripped the other candidates for the position both in terms of experience and skill. Although Trip had highly recommended Archer hire the man, once he’d been recruited and had taken control of the Armoury and Tactical systems, Trip had partially regretted his insistence. Though over the course of their adventure through Rigel X, the Helix and the space between them, Reed had proven himself the best choice.

Stoic and professional the man may be, but his growing frustration with what he perceived as a lack of consideration for Tactical systems during the run up to the launch was obvious. The Commander wasn’t blind; he could see the little ticks in the man’s expression and inflections in his voice as he asked for the hundredth time where his equipment was. Trip knew that it was a dangerous game to play on the nerves of a Weapons Specialist as skilled as Reed, but he just couldn’t resist. Especially given the huge amount of stress he himself was under during the last few days before the launch, he’d relished the chance to amuse himself a little at the Armoury Officer’s expense. In recompense for this, he ensured that the Armoury received priority energy considerations after they’d dropped Klang off on Kronos, not that this triggered any gratitude from the English thundercloud circling the Armoury. Still, Trip was confident he would wear the man down in time.

Meanwhile, Trip was very proud of his Engineering team. He’d had to fight hard to get some of them and had been watching out for sticking points between them: there was a good mix of promising rookies and experienced personnel and so far, they were getting along.

As his second, Lieutenant Anna Hess had been the first person he’d hired and had provided essential help in coordinating the final construction of the ship; ensuring they stayed on schedule, in budget and that the Commander’s sanity was preserved. Consequently, they’d spent almost a year together already, Hess taking on more responsibilities as she’d become comfortable with them from observing Trip and Trip trying to let her take them and not micromanage. Hess had previously served in engine rooms on Warp 2 Starfleet vessels and was a sassy officer who didn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone. On multiple occasions, she’d cornered Trip and told him bluntly that he was worrying over nothing or stepping on her toes or should get out of Engineering for at least 6 hours of sleep – “and a shower wouldn’t go amiss either, sir.” Trip liked her and after the first few weeks, trusted her work enough to only glance at her reports before signing them off. She was also the only person he trusted to make decisions about the Warp reactor itself, so he officially assigned her as Lead Propulsion Engineer and let her choose her own sub-team.

Crewman Rostov was another excellent and experienced Engineer. Trip and Hess both agreed to assign Rostov as Lead Electrical Engineer, responsible for maintaining the EPS grid and secondary systems throughout the ship. Amiable and full of old Russian folk tales to pass long, boring tasks, he was popular in Engineering and well-liked by his sub-team.

Ensign Kimball they put as Lead Life Support Engineer, with Hess joking that the only married team member would of course know most about sustaining vital functions. Though a few other team members had girlfriends or boyfriends left back on Earth, Kimball was the poster woman for relationship success; she’d been married for five years already and was a willing ear for those in need of romantic advice. However, when asked how she could bear to leave her wife behind, she would just smile sweetly and tell the person to mind their own business.

Crewman Dillard and Anello were the introverts of the group. As the IT specialists, they were responsible for monitoring power distribution across the ship and maintaining the ship’s computer. Trip often asked them to monitor the Armoury especially closely for any sneaky power drains from a certain Lieutenant. The pair had completed training together and had been working on Jupiter Station before the launch; they were nice guys, quiet and methodical workers. They mostly kept to themselves, never offering much to the banter most of the team relished. Although it was Dillard’s idea to start betting on how far they’d travel every day. At first, he’d felt betrayed when Hess had related this to the Commander, but when ‘the boss’ had sidled over to Dillard and placed his bet, the engineering team never looked back. Some grumbled that the Commander had an advantage as he was privy to the Captain’s plans and might even be able to influence their trajectory. However, he wasn’t the only one with an advantage: Crewwoman Kelly had an in with Ensign Socorro, one of the Science team, astronomical sub-team. She had access to the scans of the coming systems before even the Captain did and in return for real chocolate, which Kelly may or may not have smuggled aboard, would slip Kelly the pertinent info. The unpredictable nature of their work helped to even the playing field and most people got a win every so often. The prize being whatever luxury or favours the team were willing to bet: mostly candy and shift swapping.

Crewwoman Kelly, confident both in her work and as a person, bunked with Crewwoman Fuller and the pair were as thick as thieves on and off duty, often ending up working next to each other no matter their respective tasks. Many likened them to an old married couple, as they’d bicker good-naturedly about anything and everything. Though Fuller stuck mostly to the Engineering team, Kelly had a knack for striking up friendships across the whole boat.

After Trip heard that Crewwoman Kelly had made inroads with the Tactical teams, as her brother was a Security Officer on the Shenandoah, he appointed her Lead Combat Systems Engineer; basically a glorified go-between to help him deal with Lieutenant Reed. Ostensibly, Trip had the final say in any power distribution but for the day to day minutiae – read arguments – he left that in Kelly’s more-than-capable hands. Ever cheerful and optimistic, she didn’t hold it against him.

Another early hire and integral part of the team was Crewman Billy Solomon. Another great worker, a true jack of all trades, he’d been instrumental in ensuring the construction had been to Jefferies’ and Tucker’s specifications. In his last posting, there had been two Crewman Solomons so everyone had ended up calling him ‘Billy’. Trip had considered hiring the other Solomon and although he ultimately decided on Taylor instead, Billy stayed Billy. Luckily no one seemed to take offence at what some might have been seen as preferential treatment; Billy was just that great a guy.

He had served a few tours on ships travelling in their system: Jupiter Station, Mars and the Moon mostly. Confident with maintaining Warp Engines and other typical ship systems, the Commander knew he could give Billy any task and the man would jump straight to it, no need to double check procedure. He’d even become the go-to guy for anyone unsure of a particular job and not wanting to bother ‘the boss’.

Trip wasn’t sure how he felt about the moniker the team had given him. It was an affectionate nickname from Hess’ lips, however, for some of the other team members he didn’t know as well, especially the least experienced ones, the name was more of a respectful or fearful term. Trip knew he could get ‘agitated’ when under pressure and shoot his mouth of some; but he made an effort to bite his tongue and calm down before addressing his team, when he could. Remembering his Command training, Trip knew that he couldn’t afford to get too buddy-buddy with his team, but he didn’t want them to be afraid of him. Not only did that damage performances all round in the long term, but also he just didn’t want to be that kind of Officer.

Through Hess, he managed to keep track of spats, friendships and romantic sparks – thankfully few – between his team and also between them and the rest of the crew. It was a small ship, so although most people stuck to their sections, there was still a fair amount of cross-department mingling. Kelly leading the front in that regard. From his gossipy team members and crew members who were fine with talking to him directly, Trip was happy to report to the Captain that the crew was settling in well.

As for Jon…Well, Trip had gotten a real kick out of seeing his friend in action: on the Bridge, on Rigel X, giving orders and firing his phase pistol like a seasoned professional. This was what Jon had been born to do and it fit him like a glove. Trip had even teared up a little, thinking about Jon finally living out his dreams. Though he wished that the mission hadn’t been as fraught with dangers as it had. He’d beamed the Captain aboard himself, but the thrill of terror at the thought of his best friend being left to die on the Suliban’s Death Hive – as he’d overheard some crewmembers dub it – had been powerful. It had been bad enough Jon getting shot – Trip’s shock at that being pushed aside in favour for negotiating with Miss High-and-Mighty in Decon and then sorting out how they’d track the Suliban ship. Thinking back, he’d never known Archer to suffer more than a pulled muscle, or cracked molar; so seeing him barely conscious on the floor of the Shuttlepod had rattled the engineer. Due to all the excitement, he couldn’t make the time to check in with his friend until after he and the away team had returned from Kronos. Shuffling into the Captain’s quarters, dead tired but also a little wired on adrenaline, Trip had eyed Jon carefully, assessing his condition. It was clear that the Captain was exhausted, still in pain and worrying about how his report would be received by Command and the Vulcans. But all of that paled under the glow of success and rush from finally seeing _Enterprise_ really fly. Part of Trip couldn’t believe they were actually dozens of lightyears away from Earth instead of parked safely in Space Dock, he felt giddy and a little nauseous from that knowledge.

Out of deference to Phlox’s orders for Jon to rest, they didn’t talk for long, only hitting on the highlights of the last few days. Jon expressed his surprise at T’Pol’s role in their mission and Trip reluctantly agreed that she had been helpful. He hadn’t liked Jon’s wondrous tone even then. Especially as he’d tried multiple times to steer the conversation to how Jon was coping with being shot and transported and in general peril, only to have Jon return to the Vulcan puzzle every time. Watching Jon stroking Porthos’ ears, Trip was glad that Admiral Forrest had ignored the Vulcan advice that a pet on board was a frivolous distraction. Jon loved that dog and Porthos was devoted to him and they were both the better for being with each other. Blinking away the sudden rush of sentimentalism, Trip pushed himself up and called it a night, taking one last, long look at his Captain to reassure himself that he was still alive and well. The Captain smiled tiredly back and Trip let himself out.

…

The first two weeks before they had their unfortunate first contact were by turns soothing and incredibly boring. Trip was relieved for the respite so he could catch up with paperwork, record a message reassuring his mama he was fine, and complete other routine tasks. The Commander also made a point to watch his team carefully, assessing their strengths and weaknesses on the job – in a way you couldn’t on paper. He was satisfied that they were all doing well, but he’d noted a few areas for improvement and started thinking of strategies to help them. After a while though, the dearth of interesting things along their path began to grate on everyone. They were out there to explore and discover new things, not do paperwork and routine maintenance. Even finding a planet populated by little bugs and worms hadn’t done much to alleviate the restlessness that was overcoming the crew. Except for the exo-biologists of course. The only person who seemed glad of the uneventful region of space was Lieutenant Reed, who kept muttering about missile simulations and target discriminators.

So Trip had only felt mildly embarrassed to be following Archer down the corridor like a puppy, trying to whine his way onto the away team to break into the mysterious ship. After the revelation that it was a morgue, he was glad his request hadn’t been granted. As it was, he wasn’t entirely happy going over later to help Hoshi start up the alien comm system. Her insecurity was actually beneficial for him as it reminded him that he was the senior officer and had a responsibility to reassure and support other crewmembers. It also distracted him a little from the gruesomeness of the situation; though his excitement at tinkering with an alien ship was still strong.

It was a few days after their encounter with the Axanar and Trip was taking snaps of a Trinary Star cluster they’d paused to study when a memory sprang into his head.

_Send me a postcard from Space._

The soft, lilting accent swirled between his ears and closing his eyes for a moment, he could picture the sad-proud look on Jamie’s face. It had been years and he’d buried those memories and feelings so deep that they surprised him now. The memory was so vivid, he could still smell the trees and feel the cool sun on his skin; his tears like ice water trickling down his face. Jamie’s leather jacket was body-warm under his fingers, thick and squidgy and he’d resented it so much for stopping him from touching his lover’s skin. They’d kissed for hours, for days, and whispered bittersweet nothings into each other’s mouths.

 _Come with me._ The rainbow cadence had cut him to his heart and he’d hardly recognised his own voice as he’d half-begged.

 _Stay._ But Jamie hadn’t. He’d torn himself away, put on his helmet, sparing one last glance before he slammed down the visor, revved the bike and pulled out of the drive way and down the street. Never looking back.

On the Bridge, Trip managed to recover before anyone noticed his flashback and held himself together for the rest of his shift.

That evening he stopped making excuses, sat down at his desk and recorded a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as First Officer, before T’Pol was appointed that role, Trip would have helped narrow down the choices for all of the crew, I figure he would have known about Hoshi’s incident. Maybe in Season 4 he’s either forgotten or just pretends not to know to distract her from how they’re dying and everything. Also, in the first episode, it’s implied that T’Pol helps them out of gratitude for Jon saving her on Rigel X, first with continuing the mission, then Trip referencing it when convincing her not to leave Jon behind. As Vulcans often make emotional decisions and come up with a logical reason after the fact, I liked the idea of T’Pol needing to save face here and Trip recognising that. He may resent Vulcans, but he’s been around them a long time so he’s picked up some things.


	2. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Strange New World', 'Unexpected' and 'Terra Nova'.

Breathing in the fresh air, feeling the cool breeze through his hair and sun warm on his skin, Trip had a sudden rush of homesickness. He hadn’t been home in almost a year, having meant to visit a few weeks before the scheduled launch; a lot of plans had been changed last minute due to all the ‘trouble’. His mama hadn’t been happy but although a little guilty, Trip hadn’t given it much thought until he was wandering through a forest, watching Porthos bound along happily. He realised then that he’d needed this as much as the little dog. That’s what prompted him to ask to stay overnight; Travis providing handy cover so it didn’t look like a purely selfish request.

In his own head, he admitted another reason: keeping an eye on their tag-along. A few days after T’Pol’s appointment had been made official and announced to the crew, Tucker had made the rounds of all departments, checking in. The fact that he timed his visit to the Science teams whilst T’Pol was on the Bridge was something he hoped the Captain would not find out about, nor about the not-so-subtle assurance he may or may not have made to said teams that should they have any concerns, they could direct them to him. This was not generally well-received amongst the scientists. By then, his argument with T’Pol on the Bridge was common-knowledge, various retellings having made the rounds. No doubt his accent and hand waving as well as T’Pol’s robot-voice had been vastly exaggerated. Most of the scientists lived up to the ‘intellectually brilliant-socially reclusive’ stereotype – at least, of all the departments they interacted least with other teams on the ship – so as a whole they preferred the clinical command style of their Vulcan CO to Tucker’s more ‘undereducated’ manner. They were also more than suspicious of possible ulterior motives on his part, knowing that he had been First Officer before being ousted in the deal with the Vulcans, and noticing his dislike for Vulcans in general. They weren’t entirely off the mark with that, so when Crewwoman Bennet narrowed her eyes at him from behind her microscope or Ensign Cole completely ignored his presence in the Computer lab, he let it go. It was a shame as the other departments were generally friendly towards the Commander; the engineers and tactical officers appreciated his hands-on, no-nonsense approach and the pilots and other operations crew appreciated his down-to-earth and personable nature. However, there were a few science team members who were more receptive to his overture, Cutler and Novakovich among them. In any case, he hoped that the Captain would never find out about his less-than-supportive stance on the First Officer.

He was thankful that his puppy-dog look still seemed to work on his old friend and that his request granted – Porthos had been a great teacher. Though later he definitely regretted the whole thing. Amongst all the other embarrassments, he seemed to have given more credence to some crewmembers’ poor opinion of his general competence as a Starfleet officer. The whole incident wasn’t a huge endorsement of Humanity in general; lots of eggs on all their faces. They couldn’t even blame anyone else for being on the planet in the first place; it had been their bright idea to skip on down without scanning the life out of it for a week beforehand.

But his had been the voice screaming out from the comm and some people focused the blame – and ridicule – on him. He overheard Kelly telling some other engineers that the phrase ‘they’re in the walls’ had appeared on one of the noticeboards in the Astronomy Lab. When Taylor theorised that it had been poking fun at all of the away team, Kelly confirmed that it had been strategically placed underneath a notice from Engineering which had been signed by ‘the boss’ himself. Also, Ensign Socorro had confirmed that no one seemed to be bothering Cutler or Novakovich about the incident, only expressing either light teasing or sympathy, if acknowledging it at all. Though glad that Kelly and the others seemed indignant on his behalf, he wasn’t sure how he felt about T’Pol ordering the sign removed. She was probably just quashing any unprofessional behaviour, nothing more. Her voice rang obnoxiously in his head: _do you require assistance?_

However, he had noticed T’Pol helping Cutler with her bag as they were approaching the Shuttlepod and it seemed like she was being genuine when she’d assured him that she didn’t consider an apology necessary. Even her suggestion to follow Mr Velik’s advice didn’t seem as condescending as it could have been. Trip hadn’t thought about Mr Velik for years. Maybe if he had, he could have avoided the whole embarrassing episode.

All in all, Trip wasn’t sure what was worse: losing his mind in front of the Vulcan, junior officers or Jon and the whole of the Bridge. No, perhaps the worst thing was realising how Sub Commander T’Pol’s presence had almost certainly averted disaster. Without her, they would have probably turned on each other and Trip was left cold imagining how he might have hurt Travis or the others whilst out of his drugged up mind. Some Officer he was. Captain Jefferies’ harsh warning whispered out of the unmoving mouths of crewmembers in the hallways as he did his best to stride along unbothered.

Captain Archer had come to see him that evening, after Phlox had deemed them all recovered and able to return to duty. Trip was just drying his hair with a towel, exhausted from the long night of drug-fuelled ranting and ready for a nice deep sleep. He opened the door and was a little apprehensive to see Captain Archer standing there. He waved him in and made an effort to be alert for their conversation.

“How you holding up?”

“Still a little achy, but, I’m okay.” Archer put a hand on the juncture where his neck met his shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.

“Well, you’re all alright now.” Perversely, this act of comfort undid him and he felt all the emotions dragged up by the whole thing rising in him at once. Desperately, Trip tried to push them down again as Jon began to look concerned. “Trip?” Shame won out and Trip’s voice was hoarse as he almost-whispered.

“I let you down.” Jon scrunched his face up in disagreement.

“No you didn’t. What happened wasn’t your fault.” He put his other hand on Trip’s other shoulder, his strong hands supportive and warm. “And even through the delusions, you were still fighting.” He tilted his head in consideration. “It might have been…misguided, but even delirious and feverish you showed concern for the crewmen under your command and for the ship. No one could fault your dedication to this mission, to this crew.” Trip hadn’t thought about it like that. That could be true, he supposed, but…

“Except for one.” Jon sighed and slipped his hands off Trip’s shoulders, turning to get a drink of water from the desk.

“Well, it’s early days.” He handed Trip a glass which he took, starting reluctantly.

“Cap’n…I still…”

“I know. It’s going to take some time.” Bone tired, Trip couldn’t even summon the energy to consider challenging the Captain’s complete 180 on their Vulcan hanger-on. He just nodded vaguely, took a sip and then asked hesitantly.

“What ah…What are you gonna put in the report?”

“Oh, I don’t think Command will need all the details.” That damn little smirk reappeared on Archer’s face before he schooled it and went on. “I’ve already spoken to T’Pol and she agrees that a brief overview of the incident will suffice.” Hearing the Vulcan’s words in Jon’s speech, Trip huffed a laugh. Thank God for small mercies. There was a long moment of silence in which Trip became aware of Jon being shifty. Eventually, his friend muttered.

“You scared me a little there. Haven’t felt that helpless since Titan.” Trip stared at the bottom of his glass before venturing.

“I remember you mentioning it.” He looked up at Jon’s face, seeing tension there. He said carefully. “That was a long time ago.”

“It still feels like yesterday, sometimes.” Trip was surprised, it had never occurred to him that Jon would be bothered by it. He himself hardly remembered it, only thought about it when someone else brought it up. Not that Jon ever had. Once they’d returned to Earth, it had been like the incident had never happened. Thinking about it, the incident was pretty similar to Trip fighting T’Pol over going back for Jon. Had he failed, there would have been nothing he could have done and his friend would have died.

“We never talked about it.” Jon started hedging.

“Not much to say, I guess.” Trip held back a sigh; Jon was much more stubborn than he was, so he tried a circulatory route.

“I know how scary it is, to see a friend in trouble and not be able to do much to help.” Jon just nodded, not admitting it but not denying it either. This time, Trip put his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Everyone’s okay; we’re all fine.” That relaxed Jon a little and he forced a smile.

“I know.” Knowing that he couldn’t push, Trip squeezed once and let go, bidding his friend good night. As he lay in bed, he recalled the beeping of the monitors and Jon’s hand on his shoulder: the most he could remember from that terrible day. Then the sense-memories of firm lips on his neck and caressing fingers on his bare back rose up suddenly, and he pushed them down ruthlessly. Turning over, he sighed and let himself drift into sleep.

Over the next few days, he considered doing something for the Vulcan officer. He could prove that he was just as tolerant as the next person. What did Vulcans give as gifts anyway? He knew that they didn’t usually thank each other, because apparently expressing gratitude was not logical, but there had to be some kind of gesture... He browsed through the Vulcan database a few times when he had the chance, not making much progress as he wasn’t sure what to search for. But then they had the fateful encounter with the Xryllians and T’Pol’s reaction completely destroyed all the goodwill she’d garnered from him.

…

The night he came back from the Xyrillian ship, the first time, Trip had a strange dream. He was working under the Xyrillian engine with Ah’len when he began to feel sick and feverish. Fumbling, he commed _Enterprise_ , saying he wanted to come back to the ship. T’Pol and then Archer refused, saying that it was too late; he was infected. He’d woken up suddenly, feeling a twinge in his abdomen. It wasn’t until after he returned from the Xyrillian ship for the second time, that he realised what his subconscious had been trying to tell him.

A week after they left the Xyrillians nervously complying with the Klingons’ demands, he still heard the odd snigger. Just within his hearing, usually when he’d turned a corner or was in a group setting, like the Mess Hall. Humans had come a long way in terms of accepting different sexual identities and relationships, but whilst many homosexual couples could reproduce through surrogacy or lab-assisted births, no human born without a vagina had ever become pregnant in their history. T’Pol had been right about that. He supposed viewed in that way it was funny. A man – pregnant, how absurd! Maybe if it had happened to someone else, he would have laughed too.

But all he felt about it was anger. At the time he’d been crippled by confusion and worry, his hormones swinging wildly, joints aching and heart clenching for those long eight days spent in limbo. He’d barely registered anything beyond the Captain and Phlox’s speculation on what might happen; worrying simultaneously about raising a child and where he’d be forced to do it – i.e. Earth. He wasn’t a doctor or expert on Xyrillian biology, but he thought that something about the sac-thing must have made him feel protective and preoccupied with thinking about the embryo and its future. Because it wasn’t until afterwards, after he’d recovered from the procedure, endured another 3 hours with the impatient and frankly stinking Klingons; showered in Decon, debriefed with the Captain, had a check-up with Phlox, showered again, had dinner with T’Pol and the Captain, was sent to his bed to rest and then woken up in the middle of the night, that Trip had a reaction to the whole thing other than mild annoyance and worry. He’d been furious. He’d gotten out of bed and stood in the middle of his room, letting the waves of rage crash over him.

Ah’len had…She’d… She’d known what she was doing. Oh so she didn’t know that he’d get pregnant from it, but only because she’d assumed they weren’t compatible. Not because her suggestion was as innocent as she’d made it sound. She’d had her species’ equivalent of sex with him and told him it was just a game. He cursed his eagerness to learn and how flattered he’d been by her interest. An alien woman, so exotic and intelligent and exciting, interested in him? He should have known. Did he deserve this? Sure, he’d flirted back, hadn’t discouraged her. He’d even enjoyed being fed those cubes and the tingling electrical pulses whenever she’d touched him. But he hadn’t consented to having his body commandeered by an alien baby. It made his skill crawl as he considered how her cells must have seeped into his fingers and up his arms, swimming to his heart and latching on. Surely there should have been a warning written somewhere in the Starfleet Manual?

He could handle the humiliation. God knows he’d suffered his share of embarrassment from the pranks at STC. His engineering team had obviously found it as hilarious as everyone else and on his first day back on duty he’d found some knitted baby booties hanging over his desk. Having had time to bank his anger somewhat and as he was expecting something, he managed to take a deep breath and mock-berate Hess for the items. After a little scene which garnered poorly-hidden smirks from the team on duty, he pocketed them and ordered everyone back to work. Later that day, Crewman Dillard had shyly teased him about the safety of the lifts and Trip couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at the usually timid man. He swallowed down a sharp reprimand and grimaced, joking that perhaps he should appoint Dillard as Lead Lift Engineer. To his relief, the team settled down after that; they still respected him and took his orders without question.

Whilst it was harder to deal with the amusement of other crew members, that wasn’t impossible either. He would only officially reprimand someone not under his direct command for an obvious offence, but a flat look or raised eyebrow subdued most of their titters and amused expressions. Just a reminder that he was still a senior officer. It was worse from senior staff and bridge crew. Those that felt more comfortable joking at his expense, something he would usually encourage, made oblique references with sly smiles. They weren’t being cruel and the more socially-aware quickly cottoned on to his discomfort but at the same time no one, read: no one, had shown any sympathy or concern whatsoever. Not even Jon. That made him feel very alone and even more angry.

Every night he’d lie awake and put a hand over the place where she’d been, feeling the phantom weight on his chest. Maybe it was the remembered effect of the hormones or his natural desire for children, but he mourned the loss even as he shivered and held back tears at the thought

of his body being invaded, taken over without his permission. Infected. His skin would prickle uncomfortably, eyes burning as he clenched his fists and tried to hold back sobs. Sometimes breathing would get too difficult and he’d shoot up, clutching his head as he planted his feet firmly on the deck plating, or leaping up and pacing in short, agonised strides up and down and up and down.

Under the anger was fear. He hadn’t realised at the time how vulnerable he’d been. The Xyrillians could have done anything to him. In fact, he couldn’t ever know for sure they didn’t do anything else to him whilst he’d been sleeping. Every time Ah’len had touched him, electricity had crackled between them, but they could have used tools… He never wanted to be that exposed again. To feel like parts of him were foreign or changed…

It wasn’t something he could confess to Jon. Jon was his Captain now and he didn’t need to know about one of his officers’ bad dreams and paranoia. Apart from asking how he was the morning after, Archer had defaulted to suppressed amusement whenever it was brought up since, which Trip resented even as he couldn’t blame him. Word of Trip’s dalliances during training had followed him throughout his career, even though in recent years he’d been more or less monogamous.

With Archer’s opinion influenced by years of friendship, Trip was hurting for alternative people to turn to. Who were Trip’s peers on board? Not T’Pol, she who-had-immediately-accused-him-of-fraternising-on-duty; God, what condescending and unsympathetic reprimands would she dish out? He was friendly with the other department heads but not in an intimate kind of way and he wasn’t close enough to anyone on the Bridge Crew. As Second Officer, he couldn’t really go around showing that kind of weakness anyway. They’d barely begun their mission; he couldn’t show signs of cracking now. The fear of being found out and sent home in disgrace overshadowed his anxieties and trouble sleeping. So he kept quiet.

Oh and if the incident could have been kept out of Starfleet Official records – that woulda been nice. He didn’t have any problems imagining what the brass was saying. Admiral Black’s superior tone and barely veiled dislike for him in particular haunted him for days. Luckily, he hadn’t been contacted by any of them and Captain Archer didn’t mention if he’d spoken with Forrest about it. Maybe the embarrassing nature of it all was sparing him a warning or reprimand. That was cold comfort, but Trip’s mama had always told him to count his blessings.

…

10 days after he returned from the Xyrillian ship the second time, Doctor Phlox summoned him to Sickbay. Although he’d been planning to go anyway, his extra nipples were almost gone but not completely, he was nervous about possible requests to include the incident in some kind of medical study. As such, he was prepared to politely but firmly turn the good doctor down when the Denobulan surprised him.

“How are you feeling, Commander?” A rote question deserved a rote answer.

“I’m fine, Doc. A little tired but I’m mostly back to normal. Except, uh,” he unpeeled his jumpsuit arm, “can you do anything about these?” The doctor leaned in and had a look, then brought out a hand scanner. The nipples were smaller than they had been but were still recognisable as such.

“Not to worry, Commander. I predict they’ll be completely gone within another few days.” Phlox smiled at him but then the smile faded as he watched Trip slump with relief and he clarified. “Actually, earlier I was referring to your emotional state.” Trip blinked, blindsided by the question. Phlox either didn’t notice his surprise or pretended not to, going on. “As I understand it was a unique experience for someone of your species and gender so I wanted to see how you were coping.” Unable to stop himself, Trip huffed and muttered.

“Yeah, it’s hilarious.” Phlox frowned.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Surely you must have heard everyone having a good laugh.” Trip winced at the bitterness in his voice and took a deep breath, trying to push down the resentment. Phlox cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, obviously assessing him. Quickly, to avoid an offer for therapy slugs or something similar, Trip grimaced. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.” Well, turns out Phlox wasn’t born yesterday. He warned sternly.

“Commander, I can’t treat you effectively if you lie to me.”

“Doc, I appreciate your concern but to be honest I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand. However, I do think you should talk about your experience with someone, perhaps Captain Archer or another colleague.” Trip tried to keep his caustic opinion about that idea off his face. “Though I remind you, I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. Nothing you say to me will be repeated or officially logged.” Lost for an alternative and needing to unload more than he’d realised, Trip relented.

“Actually, there is one thing you could help me with.” He licked his lips and said quickly. “You know I told you about that box of pebbles? And we think that’s how Ah’len’s DNA got passed to me?” Phlox nodded. “Well, thinking about it, I was asleep a couple of times, I was wondering if maybe…” The Denobulan was very grave as he stated.

“You think something was done to you in your sleep.”

“No, not necessarily, but could you run some more tests? Just to check that…there’s nothing else…”

“I did a comprehensive scan when you returned from the Xyrillian ship, the second time.” Was there self-recrimination in the doctor’s tone there? “I found no anomalous results. If you would like I could run another scan now, just to be sure.” Trip agreed, trying to ignore the nervous tension in his limbs. Phlox directed him to lie on the scanner bed and slid it into the chamber. When Trip slid out again he saw the Doctor examining the read outs. After a moment he smiled and reported that Tucker had a clean bill of health.

“Your skin has healed nicely and your stomach and other internal organs have recovered from the pressure of the embryo sac.” Trip was relieved that he hadn’t needed surgery to reposition the organs which had been squished by the growing baby. Phlox had been worried about the strain it was putting both on the local organs (i.e. the stomach and pancreas) as well as his heart, due to the blastocyst attaching itself to the outer wall. Thankfully the embryo wasn’t growing directly next to the heart, or the pressure on his heart and lungs would have caused some serious problems. As it was, it seemed to have been drawing blood and other nutrients from the pericardium which did cause some symptoms, similar to those for a benign heart tumour: joint pain, low blood pressure and fatigue. The third day of his pregnancy, Phlox recommended he only complete light duties, mainly paperwork, and avoid being on his feet for long periods of time.

By the time the bulge had grown too big to fit under his uniform, the crew must have known something was wrong. At the time he’d noticed Ensign Hart’s gesture and what he’d assumed were furtive looks at him across the Mess but looking back, it would have been obvious from his restricted duties and odd behaviour. As no one had been told anything beyond the need to locate the Xyrillian ship, people had probably assumed that he’d picked up some sort of virus which they needed help curing. The truth hadn’t been that far off even.

“Thanks Doc, that’s a relief.” He sighed, his sheepishness not totally replacing anxiety. “I knew I was just being paranoid.”

“I think you humans have a saying: ‘better safe than sorry’.” Trip nodded and then explained without meaning to.

“Yeah, actually I’ve been thinking a lot, about how…vulnerable I was over there. Hell, we didn’t even know what they looked like, let alone what they could do. Don’t get me wrong, I loved getting to work with their engines and I learnt so much. Just wish we’d been a bit more cautious, you know? _Enterprise_ was there the whole time, but, looked what happened anyway.” Phlox hummed contemplatively.

“Have you discussed these thoughts with Captain Archer?” Trip looked down and shook his head mutely. There was a long moment of quiet as Trip tried to put his thoughts into words.

“I guess I’m afraid he won’t take me seriously. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, I’ve got a reputation…” what was a polite word for slut? “of being a ladies’ man, I guess you could say. I used to think that Jon knew me better than that but… Truth is: I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m angry, at the Xyrillians, myself, the crew, the Cap’n. I didn’t do anything wrong. I know that I didn’t even if no one else does. I did my job and helped those people and Ah’len messed with me.” He noticed he was trembling but suddenly didn’t care. “She took advantage of my ignorance to play a sex game which got me knocked up! And I’m mad about that but I’m madder that no one thought about it like that. They all think I was getting my rocks off and deserved...” He trailed off, voice getting shaky, throat tight. Phlox turned from neutrally empathetic to serious and solemn.

“I apologise Commander, if I ever gave the impression that I was gaining amusement from your condition or doubted your professionalism.” Clearing his throat, face burning, Trip waved a hand.

“No Doc, you have to do your job. I know that the Cap’n and T’Pol were too, they had to ask.”

“That doesn’t mean that their questioning couldn’t upset you.” Trip looked up but quickly averted his gaze from the sympathy in those bright eyes. “Nor that just because the incident was the result of ignorance, that you don’t have the right to feel however you feel. You underwent a very invasive and alien ordeal. The fact that some viewed your predicament as humorous does not take away the troubling nature of what happened or any lasting impact it may have on you.” He still felt nauseous and angry, but a little of the weight lifted at Phlox’s words, and the Doctor did mean them too, he wasn’t just saying them.

“Thanks Doc. I think I needed to hear that.” He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing and feeling more of his resentment slipping away. Then he snapped himself back into the room and asked anxiously. “This isn’t going on record, is it?”

“Certainly not. As I said before: doctor-patient confidentiality holds precedence.” Phlox insisted, though he hesitated before going on. “I admit I have not known Captain Archer for as long as you have, but I believe he will listen if you tell him what you just told me.” Trip didn’t doubt that. He also didn’t believe that the Captain would laugh at him if he knew just how deeply Trip had been hurt by the whole thing. Jonathan Archer was many things but a bully was not one of them; he’d probably feel guilty about his natural reaction if Trip explained. Trip didn’t want that. None of it was Jon’s fault. Maybe all it boiled down to was how he wanted his Captain to see him: as a slightly cavalier officer or a hapless victim. It had seemingly been so easy for Archer to come to believe the former: Trip couldn’t forget Archer’s scepticism when he’d pleaded his innocence.

On the other hand, whilst he’d complained to Phlox about his reputation, he couldn’t really blame anyone but himself. He had whored around when he’d been younger, having meaningless sex in and out of the Starfleet ranks. How could he feel hurt that Archer had come to a logical conclusion? In a way, he’d made this bed, perhaps he needed to accept that and lie down quietly. Anyway, he’d already cried on the Captain’s shoulder over the hallucination incident on the M-class planet a few weeks before, he couldn’t keep on breaking down in the man’s presence. In the end, he muttered reluctantly.

“I’ll think about it.” Feeling exhausted, he staggered off the bio bed. “Guess I’ll let you get back to it.” Phlox stepped back and offered.

“Just remember, Commander, I am here anytime you might wish to talk, about this or anything else.” Mustering up a smile, Trip patted Phlox’s shoulder clumsily.

“Thanks Doc. Night.” The doctor’s voice was warm when he replied.

“Good night, Commander.”

…

               Over the following week he considered Phlox’s advice. He fluctuated between hurt that Jon hadn’t believed him, had laughed at him like the others and blaming himself for Jon’s assumption. So much that he grew frustrated with himself. It wasn’t like Jon could read minds and know how Trip was feeling about the whole thing. As far as the Captain knew, Trip was just embarrassed and wanted to forget it all. That was half-true; if only he could just erase the whole thing from his memory. Despite his inner turmoil, he managed to keep his hand-wringing and long mental rants within off-duty hours, usually pacing around his quarters. The sight of T’Pol’s invisible smirk would irritate him and he fought to keep himself from overreacting to everything she said. Her sardonic lines about meeting the Xyrillian’s parents and Rigelian sausages still itched under his skin whenever he remembered them. Once or twice he saw Archer and T’Pol together, heads bent over something or other and he’d get suspicious and cross and worried. Part of him wondered how much influence the Vulcan had over Archer’s understanding of the incident. Had they been discussing him behind his back? Had she been making suggestions on how to manage him in future? How much was she really interfering with them? In those moments, he hated her. He wished her off the ship and out of his life.

As a consequence of all this, he had a constant low-level struggle to keep himself from letting any of his ill-temper towards _her_ show. Getting lost in Warp theory and tinkering with systems helped as did letting other crewman’s chatter wash over him. He stopped overhearing snatches of gossip about him and the incident, new topics occupying the waggling tongues, and that really helped his efforts to calm down. So in Engineering and the Mess Hall he was mostly fine, but the minute _she_ showed up, his whole body would tense. Part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, childish even, but he just couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter if she said anything or was silent, whether she even looked his way or not: sharp words gathered at the tip of his tongue, the muscles in his upper back crunching, his shoulders turning into rocks. It made daily meetings a nightmare as he struggled to ignore all that and concentrate on what was going on. He was seriously considering going to see Phlox again or even mention something to Archer, but then they were almost at Terra Nova and he pushed the anger and guilt down, resolving to think about it later.

…

In a strange way, the events on the colony actually helped Trip climb out of his spiralling resentment and loneliness. Although harrowing at times, hearing that Malcolm had been shot and captured was definitely not something he wanted to happen again, the happy outcome of successfully re-locating their cousins to a new hidey-hole was a huge boost to the whole crew’s mood. The Captain was especially merry; whistling in the corridors, praising Chef’s eggs and playing fetch with Porthos in Cargo Bay 2 for over an hour. Even T’Pol seemed, if not moved, then not ‘unmoved’ by the success. She had been proficient and brilliant as always, expressing doubt but ultimately proving her worth and willingness to tolerate their funny human ways. Whilst Trip still resented her scornful reaction to his pregnancy and presence in general, he acknowledged to himself that she was still a valuable member of the crew and she _was_ helping more than hindering them. Not everything was about him, including their ‘Vulcan spy’. Anyway, he could handle dealing with people who hated him; the Vulcans at the Warp 5 complex had shown more than enough scorn over the years and Admiral Black and his flunkies had always seemed like they were a failed Warp trial away from trying to have him chucked out of the service. So T’Pol and some of the science team saw him as an unusually clever ape, they could join the club. Trip would just ignore them and continue doing the job he loved.

The evening in which they’d completed the move and broken orbit, Trip went to visit Malcolm in Sick Bay. He was pleased to see Travis already there, cajoling reluctant smiles from the Englishman. Although he’d heard from the Captain that Malcolm would make a full recovery, he wanted to see the patient in person. Having been a patient in Sickbays both on Earth and on _Enterprise_ a few times himself, he knew how much visitors helped morale. The Lieutenant was evidently not a stranger to them either, judging by his protests that an overnight stay really was not necessary. He wasn’t sure how much their presence was appreciated by the twitchy Tactical Officer, but at least Mayweather seemed to be enjoying himself. After the two of them were shooed out of Sick Bay by a protective Phlox, Trip offered to go through the incident report template with Travis, to help him get familiar with it and give advice on how to complete it. It wasn’t unheard of that a lower ranking officer would pen a report, but Trip doubted Mayweather had ever written one. The Ensign enthusiastically accepted and they agreed on a time to meet the next day.

This was why he’d signed up, he thought as he slipped into his room and got ready for bed: to discover new worlds and challenges, to be at the forefront of innovations in space travel and exploration. Being a leader and helping younger members of the crew was just icing on the cake. He couldn’t regret coming on the mission and so decided to let go of his lingering bitterness over the Xyrillian incident.

Tomorrow was a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag ‘references to sexual assault’ refers to how Trip reacts to becoming pregnant. I’m sure the show-runners intended Ah’len’s line: ‘I didn’t know this could happen with another species’. to mean: ‘I didn’t know touching you could get you pregnant’. But given Trip’s sexual history in this fic, I thought it’d be more interesting for him to assume it meant: ‘I didn’t know my sex game could work on you’.  
> Essentially, in this fic Ah’len’s intentions are left unclear so whether or not the pebbles were really an innocent game or a sex act is left up to reader’s opinion. I included the tag because Trip thinks he was sexually assaulted and the fic details with him trying to come to terms with it.  
> Writing this, the more I thought about ‘Unexpected’ the angrier I got as it became more obvious to me that a potentially traumatic experience was being played for laughs. Even if in the episode Trip doesn’t show too much negative reaction to either the event or the ridicule, after 8 days I would hope Captain Archer would have stopped laughing about something that could threaten his friend’s career or even his life.  
> I also thought a lot about the medical implications of the embryo and where it was growing in Trip’s body – he would have had a lot more symptoms than just being hungry and over-emotional.  
> Also, isn’t Trip cute thinking he can ‘decide’ to stop feeling something.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Andorian Incident, Breaking the Ice and Civilisation

A few days after they’d left the Xyrillians for the second time, _Enterprise_ picked up a planetary nebula on long-range sensors. When they’d come closer, they’d seen a Vulcan survey ship close by to the nebula. Naturally, the Captain had hailed them but they hadn’t replied and had even fled at Warp when _Enterprise_ had moved closer, to see if assistance was needed. The Captain had taken T’Pol’s suggestion that they were doing a sensitive experiment and couldn’t be disturbed seemingly at face value but at dinner that night, Trip had sensed lingering suspicion and anger. The Commander had been struggling with his own emotions over the Xyrillian incident at that point so hadn’t weighed in at all. It said something with how bothered the Captain was by the suspicious Vulcan behaviour that he didn’t notice Trip’s lack of usual indignation. Instead, the Captain had merely been a bit short with T’Pol over the following days, but then they reached Terra Nova and the incident seemingly forgotten. And then they saw P’jem on their trajectory…

…

There was a general air of smugness from certain quarters lingering around the ship for a week or so after the ‘Vulcan Temple Incident’. There were hushed conversations in the Mess Hall and twinkling eyes watching the Science Officer more closely than usual. Hoshi said cheekily that it was the best birthday present she could hope for, even if it was a full week before her actual birthday. Trip had liaised with the comm officers to arrange a little party in the Mess after dinner and had to admit that what they had planned could not compete with the humiliation of an Officer Hoshi did not get on with.

Trip would maybe have felt more gratified if he could have gotten rid of his damned headache. Phlox had treated him, Archer and Crewman Watson when they’d finally finished with all the red tape stuff on the planet; giving them all painkillers and something to help them sleep. Luckily the Andorian’s weapons had only been set to ‘bruise’ when they’d shot Watson, though Reed had still hovered around his crewman like the world’s most awkward mother hen. Trip’s cheek had been throbbing when he’d woken the next morning and his head had still felt a little fuzzy, but he had gritted his teeth and gotten on with his day. He’d never liked taking too many painkillers as they slowed his mind and numbed his fingers. Working through pain was better than through the fog of drugs. He was on light duties due to his injury, anyway, so only held meetings and went through paperwork; but his fingers ached to hold a tool and tinker with something. Hess was watching him though, so he didn’t risk it. She had not been impressed with his bruised face, saying not-quite jokingly that every time he left the ship something terrible happened to him. He was inclined to agree with her and made a note to check the Starfleet regulations on compensation for serving in dangerous situations. Apart from the vivid bruise on his face, the incident also added some new nightmares to his collection: mostly of him being buried alive along with those creepy mummies of the Vulcan Elders as Jon screamed for his help.

However much he was hurting though, it couldn’t have been anything on how bad the Captain must have felt. Trip had gotten a glimpse when Phlox had been treating the poor battered man and it had looked pretty ugly. The Captain had been forced to take a day of leave in order to fully recover, grumbling all the way. Perhaps the worst part of the whole time locked up with those snooty priests and trigger-happy Andorians was when Trip had been powerless to help his Captain. Before the Vulcans had deigned to impart the highly useful information about the transmitter and catacombs, all Trip could do was offer Archer a wash cloth and help him to hobble around. Waiting for the little blue guys to bring his Captain back, surrounded by disapproving and judgemental glares and listening to the Head Priest sympathise with T’Pol’s poor nose, only to realise that Jon had been getting severely beaten whilst he’d been sitting on his ass…Trip would rather a smack in the face with a plasma rifle any day.

Although not an expert on Vulcans, he had been around them a lot and thought he could see a certain awkwardness in T’Pol’s posture and movements once back on _Enterprise_. She avoided making eye contact with anyone and was a bit more glare-y than usual. He pondered how he would feel on a ship full of Vulcans had his entire race just been embarrassed but then realised his experience being sneered at by Vulcans in the Warp 5 complex was similar enough that he didn’t have to imagine. Part of him was sympathetic, but he still thought that she could use some humbling: therefore, he limited his snide remarks to the First Officer to an absolute minimum and didn’t stop other people doing it either. This sympathy also didn’t stop him from being retroactively offended at the priests for their bald faced lies. So it’s only logical to lie when it covers up their misdeeds, is it? How many times had that Head Priest guy gone on about their noble pacifism and how much better they were because of it, when all the time he was covering for an enormous covert surveillance operation? Hypocrites! All of them.

Who knew, perhaps this incident would be good for everyone. The crew had enjoyed a good ego boost, T’Pol had lost her high ground – at least temporarily – and they’d met a species who weren’t beholden to the Vulcans, even if he hoped they’d never cross paths again. Bad enough to have Klingons and Suliban as enemies, they couldn’t afford to add Andorians to that list. Even though their ‘paranoia’ had been proven correct, they were still too aggressive for Trip’s liking. And all it cost them was two days locked up with condescending monks. Perhaps not a resounding success, but Trip knew that Jon was a little smug underneath his disgust. They didn’t talk about it, but he could see it in Jon’s expressions. Once his face had healed enough, that was.

Maybe Lieutenant Reed’s suggestions for new landing party protocols had some merit.

…

Luckily, Ensign Sato’s 22nd birthday came around to distract people from relishing in T’Pol’s humiliation. The Mess Hall had been covered with green decorations, her favourite colour, and there was a wide selection of dishes from her native Japan. Although still coming out of her shell socially, Hosih was well-liked so her party was well attended. Trip was trying some sake with Travis when an unnatural hush fell over the room. He turned around and was surprised to see the Sub Commander. He watched her approach Hoshi and the pair exchanged words, the Ensign’s expression as nonplussed as most other people’s around them. Then T’Pol bowed her head and retreated. Trip lost sight of her momentarily but about a half hour later spotted her ducking out. Hoshi wouldn’t repeat what the Vulcan woman had said, but it obviously had been something not negative at least. Speculation was rife and the general feeling of the crew seemed to shift from self-satisfied to morbidly curious. Nothing the Second Officer needed to look into too closely.

Perhaps that was what compelled him to invite T’Pol to sit with him the next day – the day they spotted the comet. He’d had a hard day and just wanted to enjoy his pie and crash into bed. But when her little quip about Vulcan’s ironclad physiology hadn’t made him almost break his teeth from annoyance, he found himself asking her to join him. Or maybe the promise of Pecan Pie had overpowered all his issues with the Vulcan Officer and all her comments just rolled off his back, the sugary delight melting all his usual animosity. She remained a mystery that evening but despite her best efforts, Trip began to see through T’Pol’s cool Vulcan façade.

The very next day there was the unfortunate incident with the encrypted letter which really got the ball rolling. He’d been deeply troubled both by what he’d read and how he’d come to read it. Surprise was the overpowering emotion. He’d never taken the Vulcans as a race that upheld antiquated traditions, surely it wasn’t logical to keep on doing something just because your ancestors had. Their discussion in her quarters filled in a lot of blanks and answered a lot of questions he hadn’t even realised that he’d had. She went on and on about how honouring her people’s traditions was the only course of action and yet she was stalling as hard as she could. He wasn’t sure how much of her ultimate decision had been influenced by his words. Whilst he liked to think he’d made a difference, it wasn’t like she’d ever admit to anything, so he’d never know for sure.

Although he still felt terrible for the invasion of her privacy, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the glimpse into her psyche. In the days that followed, he saw more and more of this hidden side of her. As the Science team drooled over the Eisilium, the rest of the ship was back to normal routines so he had some time to ponder the events.

The knowledge he had now explained a lot about Vulcan culture but also about T’Pol. She wasn’t the perfect Vulcan she was pretending to be. If anything, he was getting the impression that she was a bit of an oddball among her own people, maybe even a maverick. It appeared that she and Jon had more in common than previously thought. Maybe that’s why the two were getting along so well recently. Not that Trip was jealous in any way of course.

Still, as much as he respected her, he still hadn’t forgotten the many jabs over his ‘indiscretion’ with the Xyrillian and the way she’d put him down in general. Further, he still didn’t trust her.

That all changed with the incident on the Bridge over Alkali.

“Come in.” Steeling himself for another precious second, Trip breathed out and opened the door to T’Pol’s quarters, stepping in with all the outward confidence that he lacked inside.

“Sub Commander.” She raised an eyebrow and going against the manners his mama taught him, he dispensed with pleasantries, instead stating plainly. “I want to apologise for questioning your orders on the Bridge earlier.”

He really did feel ashamed of his overreaction, even as he acknowledged to himself that it had been understandable. Thinking back to that terrible handful of minutes, being callously told that the Captain was dead, half-disbelieving it, half fighting the terror he’d hoped to never feel again, sent a shiver down his spine. He’d been wracking his brains trying to think of a way to circumvent or break through the force field when he’d heard that cool, authoritative voice. A grim shroud had settled over him as he’d commed Engineering. T’Pol’s expression didn’t change as she said matter-of-factly.

“It was insubordination.” There was no point in denying it.

“It was.” She didn’t move to speak so he filled in the gap cautiously. “I had my reasons.”

“You were concerned I would abandon the Captain.” He nodded, in a way glad for her plain speaking.

“Truth is I was waiting for you to try and leave Jon behind again.”

“I understand.” In those two words, she managed to acknowledge his concern and also his realisation that it was no longer necessary. Resisting the urge to shuffle like a nervous schoolboy, he waited as long as he could under her scrutiny before asking softly.

“So…do you accept my apology?” She kept him waiting a minute, eyes piercing, before inclining her head in that regal way she had.

“Yes. I also see no reason to add the incident to my report.” Relief swept over him and he nodded his appreciation. T’Pol wasn’t finished though. “Commander.” Her tone made him stand to attention again. “If you ever threaten to vent the nacelles or question my orders in that way again, you will be relieved of duty, do you understand?” Fair enough. He gulped and replied humbly.

“Yes, ma’am.” Although she didn’t say anything, he sensed that she’d drawn a line under the incident. For an absurd moment he was reminded of Captain Jefferies’ style: once a matter was dealt with, it was filed and put away, not left to linger and poison the working atmosphere. Pushing away that disturbing comparison, he remembered something. “Oh, I meant to say. If you ever have any questions about being First Officer and-” She interrupted him curtly.

“I was properly briefed on the duties when I took the position.” Suspecting that he’d managed to offend her, he said carefully.

“Of course you were. I was just reminding you that I’m here to support you, if needed.” He looked away and said quietly. “It’s what a good Second Officer should do.” Then his own voice, telling Cutler she’d have better luck befriending bugs, came back to haunt him. Some help he’d been, undermining T’Pol’s relationship with the crew like that. Holding back a sigh, he ventured. “Also, the First Officer acts as a go-between for the Captain and the crew…which can be difficult if some of the crew are intimidated by you.”

“You think the crew are intimidated by me.” She didn’t sound surprised or unsurprised by his statement.

“Some of them, and yes, I know they are. It’s not really your fault. It’s just as you know, Vulcans don’t have a reputation for being…sympathetic to human problems.” T’Pol said neutrally.

“I am beginning to understand that.” Breathing easier with the previous tension dissipated, he risked a bit of cheek, smirking as he said mock-innocently.

“But I think as the crew gets to know you, they’ll realise how wrong they are.” T’Pol didn’t react in any way to his statement, which he’d learned was a statement in itself, so he took the hint and went on seriously. “Till then, if you require any help or second opinion on any issues with crew relations…I’m here.” She just looked at him in lieu of answering, but it was one of her less hostile micro-expressions so he guessed he hadn’t offended her. “Oh, I don’t know if it was in your briefing, but birthdays and holidays usually come under the purview of the First Officer.” He took out a PADD from his pocket and handed it to her. She glanced at it before looking up at him, causing him to quickly school his amused expression. “But sometimes they delegate, either to department heads or,” his lips twitched, “the Second Officer.” She handed the PADD back to him.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Commander.” This time he let his smile loose.

“Not at all, Sub-Commander.” She inclined her head in clear dismissal and he obliged, walking quickly – not running – out of the door.

…

               Whilst Trip’s family was large and unwieldy, most of the news flowed through his parents, his mama being a particularly bad gossiper. So when the airspace mailbags arrived, the letter was always from his mama. Sometimes another relative was visiting and would say hello, but most of the updates came from Elaine Tucker’s mischievous lips, her husband often pottering around in the background interjecting with comments every so often. With one notable exception.

His big sister Melanie had moved to Ireland a few years previously, taking her young brood with her. One of her sons, Callum, was very proud of his spaceman uncle and was even wearing a home-made Starfleet uniform in the family photo Melanie sent. It had been a while since Trip had seen them all in person, so he was a little taken aback by how much the children had grown. He’d have to make sure to visit when _Enterprise_ returned home. Melanie’s letter included a warning that Callum had made his whole class interested in their mission and they’d drawn pictures and made up stories about far flung worlds the ship might encounter. Some genius at Starfleet Command had had the bright idea of doing some promotion of the mission and had heard about Callum’s classes’ interest. They’d been selected to ask questions which the Captain would answer and post on Starfleet’s network for publicity.

In a way, Trip found it incredible. The man could stand before the Klingon Court or stare down Suliban cell ships, but put him in front of a virtual class of children and he shook in his boots. Trip couldn’t figure out where the nervousness was coming from. Was he worried about his legacy – perhaps he thought the recording might get trotted out for generations to come and a bad performance could embarrass him even posthumously – or was he really intimidated by children? Thinking about it, the only time Trip had seen Jon around children had been at Tucker family gatherings. Usually if the critters got too friendly, one of their parents would swoop in to save the poor man. Once Trip had even done it. Seeing the panic in Jon’s eyes, Trip had enticed the children away with a game. It was kind of cute, watching the usually strong and steady Jonathan Archer, suddenly hesitant and unsure. Trip would have liked to pinched his cheeks like a broody maiden aunt or taken his hand and... No, Trip thought to himself sternly, that ship had burnt down in harbour before it was ever even sea worthy. He focused on his suspicion that Jon had sifted through all the questions and purposefully selected the most embarrassing one for Trip to answer. That was friendly territory and warranted appropriate retaliation: the perfect side project to keep him occupied in his off-hours.

In a moment of inspiration, Trip managed to convince the rest of the Bridge Crew to go along with presenting the other items on T’Pol’s list before the populated M-class planet. Travis and Hoshi had been buzzing, Malcolm quietly amused and T’Pol had deigned to lower herself to their level. Trip wasn’t exactly sure why but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The moment of realisation on Jon’s face had been priceless. Very enjoyable. But that was just small potatoes, as was slyly enquiring as to the Captain’s adventures with the apothecary on Alkali. The blush in Archer’s cheeks had been adorable but Trip was looking for something to cause a bigger reaction. He couldn’t wait to get his own back properly.

…

There were no major holidays in August and the only crew member’s birthday was Ensign Desai of the Medical Team – Phlox had been delighted to take part in the organising of the surprise party – a concept not found in Denobulan culture – and had blabbed details to everyone he’d come across in the days before the event. Once the successful surprise party had been thrown, to pass the time between excitement, the crew began to come up with communal social activities. Some crewmembers started a Chess Championship. It was tricky to organise with the participants’ different shift patterns, so for the first stage they’d scheduled three rounds: Alpha, Beta and Gamma shifts. After that, the matches were arranged as and when the two competitors were off-duty. Reed had won, to no one’s surprise as he’d thrashed almost all his opponents, although Crewwoman Namod had put up a good fight in the final. It was the most excited Trip had ever seen a crowd watching two people sitting sedately for hours on end. He wouldn’t have gone if not for his role as Second Officer – T’Pol had made her excuses – but watching the crew getting on well was worth the boredom. The Tactical team also had a mini basketball competition between themselves and a handful of brave crewmembers from other departments. Reed had surprisingly condoned it – although he undermined this seemingly out-of-character decision by taking notes of his team’s abilities in team-work and general fitness. He hadn’t taken part himself, everyone agreeing that this was due to his position as the Head of the department and not due to lack of skill or athleticism. Most of the crew had seen him going at the punching bag in the gym at one time or another and the sensible ones had kept their distance.

The most prevalent pass time, however, was betting pools. Since luxuries were few and far between, the prizes of bets were usually based around shift swapping and other favours. There were multiple bets floating around at any one time in different departments, occasionally inter-department if the interests lined up.

In addition to the daily mileage bet, Engineering had a pool on which injector would start malfunctioning first – they were still waiting for that one to happen. Logistics and the Stewards had a bet going about who Chef would threaten with his meatclever each day – apparently there was always at least one person.

The medics bet how many times Phlox would get bitten or otherwise harmed by his creatures per week (the figures apparently remained fairly consistent, meaning that the dear doctor never did learn) and also how many times the senior officers would visit Sickbay each month.

Trip found out about that one when he was visiting Sickbay for a follow up with Phlox. He’d gotten dizzy whilst climbing one of the ladders in Engineering and had nipped into Sickbay for the doctor to check it wasn’t serious. His head injury on P’jem had been almost a month previous and whilst he’d had two or three mild headaches since then, they hadn’t seemed any worse than usual. But dizziness could be dangerous when moving between the levels and near hazardous equipment and he wasn’t about to risk anyone getting hurt if he passed out or fell on duty. Phlox took a look and diagnosed post-concussion syndrome. The usual treatment was time as most symptoms would fade after a few weeks, but in the Commander’s case they couldn’t afford to wait. Luckily, the Denobulan had a critter whose spit acted as an accelerant for brain cell regeneration, so he went over to fish it out. Phlox yelped just as Crewwoman Hayes came in to relieve Crewman Fisher. Hayes groaned as Fisher chuckled at her disappointment. Whilst the doctor was extracting the liquid, the Commander had questioned the strange behaviour. Fisher, who was friendly with Tucker ever since he’d repaired a medical scanner Fisher had dropped and not written him up, explained about the pools. Fisher had bet Phlox would be injured 5 times that week and he’d just witnessed the 3rd time. Hayes had had 2 injuries, so was out of the running. She grumbled and went into the back to check some supplies. Trip shook his head and said to Fisher.

“I’d offer to fake a few illnesses to help you out, but I doubt the doc would approve.” Fisher smiled.

“I always bet 0 for you.” His smile grew wider at Trip’s expression. “Don’t underestimate the power of positive thinking.” Trip huffed a laugh, patted Fisher on the shoulder and drawled.

“Hope springs eternal.”

The Bridge Crew had a bet on how many times a week they’d get a call from Starfleet Command. Hoshi kept the books on that one, having started to whole thing by making a bet with Crewman Baird and DiPanto – the other comm officers – and some other Bridge Crew members on when Command would next call. She’d been the most far off, predicting a week and Forrest had called the day after the bet was struck, and her forfeit had been to be the one to tell the Captain that Porthos had chewed up one of the blankets in an emergency med kit kept just off the Bridge. Ensign Socorro, who had been manning the Science station when the discovery had been made, had put in a request for a new one but had been vague on the report as no one had wanted to embarrass the Captain by explaining. Lieutenant Reed had found out and insisted that the proper cause be logged, not that he volunteered to be the one to break the news. As such, the Bridge crew had made the bet to decide who would fulfil the unfortunate task. Luckily, the Captain hadn’t been offended or upset by the news, only making sure to monitor Porthos closely when he was out of the Captain’s quarters and taking responsibility for the blanket. Bolstered by this reaction, the crew had kept on making the bet, with a forfeit of imparting awkward news or prize of relating good news to the Captain or other senior staff.

The many bets kept things interesting during slow stretches and strengthened the friendships among the crew.

Then they’d gotten the call to turn around due to a civilian distress signal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised after watching ‘Civilisation’ that Trip must have at least thought of a contingency plan for T’Pol threatening to leave Jon again, it seemed thought-out rather than spontaneous. I believe that when his assumption had been proved wrong, that was the point at which he began trusting T’Pol with command of the ship (and with Jon’s life). He doesn’t disobey or question her orders after that, that I remember.  
> Also the exact causes and nature of post-concussion syndrome aren’t clear yet so, just assume in the future they can cure it lickety split because science fiction!


	4. Attack and Defend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Fortunate Son', 'Cold Front' and 'Silent Enemy'.

The Commander had let Hess lead the team of engineers helping out on the cargo freighter. The 1.8 Warp engine wasn’t likely to pose them any problems, it was good field experience for them and a nice change of pace. Though he would have liked to have gotten a look at their engine. Old or new, all engines interested him, it was the differences in design that inspired idea for new solutions to their current issues. But he supressed that interest to let others shine. Hess came back and when she’d handed him her report, he’d noticed she seemed a little distracted. When he questioned her, she just said she’d had a funny feeling on the other ship. Like the _Enterprise_ crew hadn’t been welcome; like they were outsiders among their own species.

“I suppose boomers like to think of themselves as their own kind.” He’d ventured. Hess had nodded thoughtfully and then smirked, looking at the PADD.

“See, sir, that’s how a successful, trouble-free away mission is done.” Huffing, he’d waved her away and then he’d thought nothing more of her concerns.

Trip was ashamed to say that he hadn’t picked up any strange vibes from First Officer Ryan when he visited Engineering, even after Hess’ uneasiness. The man had been a bit standoffish and defensive of his ship and her capabilities perhaps but there wasn’t any hint of the nefarious secret. Trip was further angry at himself that he let the _Fortunate_ get away whilst the away team were trapped in the jettisoned compartment. If he’d just been quicker off the mark with the weapons…Though in his defence, Ryan losing his mind and abandoning the away team in a decompressing compartment had come right out of nowhere. Were they going to have to get used to assuming the worse in people? Trip wasn’t sure he could do that.

He did, however, pick up on Mayweather’s excitement at interacting with boomers again and his sympathy with Ryan’s intentions – if not his actions. Perhaps he was getting homesick. Although he did delight in showing off all of _Enterprise’s_ delights. Trip was pretty proud of her too and had given his family the virtual tour using his camera which had been a good luck present from Lizzie. She’d visited him in San Francisco a few weeks after his promotion had been announced and had been both proud and worried as she’d hugged him and handed him the present.

“You take lots of pictures, ya hear? We don’t wanna miss a thing.” He’d heard what she hadn’t said and smiled gently, promising.

“I will.”

When Travis had heard of Trip’s mission to document all the ship for his family, the boomer had offered to take a photo of Trip in the sweet spot. They’d had a great time trying out different angles and poses. Although he wasn’t territorial about it, the spot became known as Travis’ space and he often hung out there whilst off-shift, greeting visitors with an impish, upside-down smile.

It was where Trip went after his shift ended after they finally left the _Fortunate_. Trip wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing, still disbelieving that they’d been shot at by their fellow humans, even if they were an ‘independent’ group. So he couldn’t imagine how the boomer was feeling. Opening the hatch, he found his hunch proven right. Travis was sitting on the ceiling as usual, though his easy grin was missing. Trip swung up to join him, only slightly more skilfully than his first attempt and said.

“I don’t wanna intrude, just wanted to see how you were.” Travis was dry-eyed but there was obvious tension in his frame as he replied.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Trip shrugged.

“Seeing the crew of the _Fortunate_ , hearing what Ryan had to say, might have stirred up some things.”

“You’re not wrong.” Travis sighed. “I know I made the right decision for me in joining Starfleet. I just wonder sometimes if it was the right one for my family. I haven’t heard from them in a while…communication has always been slow between ports.”

“We’ll be dropping Echo 1 next week, after that we should be able to speed things up a bit. My mama wasn’t too happy to hear that I was leaving Earth, going off ‘gallivantin’ around the universe’.” Travis chuckled at Trip’s impression of his mother’s words. “But my family knew it was what I wanted to do, what I needed to do. So maybe it’s selfish of us, but we’re also pioneers. Think of the generations who’ll have us to thank for their swanky ships and far-flung colonies. All cos we followed our dreams and didn’t stay home.” Processing Trip’s words, Travis nodded slowly. Then he smiled a little.

“Thanks, Trip.”

“Anytime.” He waited a beat and then looked around. “Now how do I get down from here?” Travis just laughed.

…

At first, Trip had been excited to have alien guests to tour around his beautiful engine. He was so pleased of all the work he and the crew had done building her, and a captive audience was every proud parent’s catnip. The fact that he was actually condescending to a Warp Field Theorist highly embarrassed him; both that he wasn’t as further advanced as he’d thought and that he’d become someone who automatically assumed he was. Still, he recovered, going on with the tour and then all Hell had broken loose. Standing at the engine, desperately pushing buttons, even as he’d been reporting the cascade he’d known that it was too late. Training and experience forced him to keep on, but the cold, logical part of him knew they were already dead. Then suddenly they weren’t. He heard himself reporting to the Captain, his body moving as if someone else was doing it. Once he’d tracked down the cause of their salvation and began to question his people, the bizarreness continued though he gradually felt more like himself. By the time he reported the mystery to the Captain, he was back in his body with his head back in the game.

But the relief had been short-lived as they realised that there was something else at play. The whole thing with Daniels was mind-boggling. The man he’d exchanged small talk with, thought was a decent guy, was a liar and a time traveller with cool gadgets and potentially disturbing knowledge of Humanity’s future. How had he slipped under everyone’s radar?

Watching him walk through a wall was sure something else though. Even T’Pol hadn’t been able to contain her surprise at that, her eyes had widened fractionally, left eyebrow twitching. He might not have noticed if they hadn’t been standing too close. That was something to ponder for another time, how often they ended up almost on top of each other. Maybe his deodorant masked his horrible odour. Or more likely she was going out of her way to test her control; how close can you get to the smelly human before you flinch. He shook his head, telling himself not to be so negative. The fact that it sounded like Jon’s voice may have given the thought more weight but he pushed all that gunk out of his head and got back to work. Lots more things to think about later…

The Great Plume of Agosoria sure was beautiful, when he caught a glimpse of it. He wasn’t able to appreciate it, however, as the fallout from incident hit with full force. The most immediate panicked thought which took hold of him was how the Hell Daniels had gotten assigned to _Enterprise_. He enlisted Lieutenant Reed’s help in tracing the record of ‘Daniels’ in Starfleet. The time-traveller had completed basic training, at least according to the records and the trainee supervisor Reed interviewed. Reed performed a background check which turned up too clean to be real, he dug a little deeper and found all the addresses and facts were carefully fabricated. He theorised that Daniels had either had help on the inside, or had used some fancy technology to fake his references. The second was more palatable, just, but he’d bitten out in his crisp tone that they ‘couldn’t assume that, Commander’. Still, it wasn’t something they could exactly combat against from _Enterprise_ so Reed just noted his findings into the report. Once that concern had been satisfied, the rest of the horrors fell upon the Commander gleefully.

He liaised with Chef, Lieutenant Parrett (the Quartermaster) and Captain García (Head of Logistics at HQ) to decide what to do about covering Daniels’ position. Command had mandated that they would not return to Earth to pick up a replacement, nor would a ship be sent to rendezvous with anyone. They were too far out to make any transfer feasible without delaying their schedule. That meant that they had to cover for one Steward’s duties between the remaining members of the Logistics Division. Daniels had been assigned to dinner and laundry, his main duties busing tables, cleaning and organising the Mess, servicing the officer’s rooms and maintaining the laundry system. There were two remaining Stewards, Crewman Taylor and Fletcher but they couldn’t take on all the duties themselves as a permanent solution. In the end, they decided to distribute his duties between other members of the Logistics team: Crewman Helberg and Howerton, the Uniform & Laundry Manager and Hygiene & Food Safety Mangers respectively, taking on the bulk of the duties. Lieutenant Parrett offered to help with their paperwork, claiming to find the fill out of forms soothing after a long day of crew sheepishly coming to her about uniforms damaged through carelessness or embarrassing incidents. According to the ship’s rumour mill, one male crewmember had requested more material in the lower half of his jumpsuit. Though whenever anyone dared asked her, Parrett would only smile innocently and ask what they could possibly be implying.

After that problem was sorted out, Trip reluctantly went back to his quarters to sleep for the remaining hours before he was next on shift. It wasn’t until he was sitting on his bunk that he relaxed enough to remember the thrill of fear he’d felt as he and T’Pol had found the Captain lying still on the floor of his quarters. For a split second, time had slowed down and Trip had thought his friend was dead. Stumbling in, he’d found a pulse and hefted a huge sigh of relief, then busied himself calming a worried Porthos as Phlox arrived and checked the Captain over. Why were all these aliens always gunning for the Captain? How many shocks could Trip’s heart take?

Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt short of breath. He put a hand over his eyes and curled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut behind his hand. He breathed in some shaky breaths and curled in tighter. He was a Starfleet Officer. The Captain was counting on him to keep his head. To not give up. After a while, he felt a little steadier and wiped his eyes on the sheets. He pushed it all down and tried to sleep.

…

The third night he woke up in a cold sweat, he lay panting for a few minutes and then cursed, dressing in sweats and half-stumbling out of his quarters. It was obscenely early morning and if he’d planned to talk to anyone else he would have waited till a respectable hour, but he knew that Phlox only hibernated about once a year, so chances were he’d be free. Shuffling into Sickbay, the familiar smell hitting him and dispelling the last of his tiredness, he reconsidered his intention.

Archer had written up two reports: the official one and the real one for certain eyes only. The crew had been told the official version: Daniels had been in Engineering dropping something off from the Quartermaster when Silik had attacked, killing him. The Captain, Trip, T’Pol, Reed and select members of Command saw the second report. Trip promptly became sick of retelling the story of watching Daniels be shot before exploding into nothingness: first for Captain Archer, then Admiral Forrest, then the other Admirals, then the Inquiry Board. If the Vulcans asked for a retelling he’d lose his mind. He’d held back to the urge to ask whether they’d located Daniels’ brother yet. No need to draw attention to more of Daniels’ lies.

From what Trip could tell, Daniels had mostly kept to himself, only really socialising extensively with the other stewards and his roommate. The day after the incident, Trip briefly talked with Crewman Fisher about how he was coping with the loss of his roommate. Fisher was understandably shaken and visibly upset, though he’d refused the offer to take Bereavement leave. He’d been reassigned to share with Crewman Haynem, another medical team member and friend. Trip had helped Fisher move his stuff over, trying to get a feel for how the man was coping as he did so. Although a terrible thing to live through, Trip was sure that with support, Fisher would get through it. It wasn’t until he was in the turbolift after leaving Fisher’s new quarters that Trip realised he himself was shaking slightly. He breathed in deeply, shutting his eyes and focusing on the feeling of his rib cage expanding, every square inch of air filling up his lungs.

Already regretting it, Trip paid T’Pol a visit in her office and mentioned that she might want to coordinate with Phlox to monitor Fisher and the stewards in case they needed counselling or other support. He read her question in her still face, or perhaps he’d just been expecting it, and very reluctantly admitted that the incident had him rattled. She’d considered him for a moment before asking softly.

“Are you alright, Commander?” He sighed.

“I’ll be fine, I just…I just need a few days I think, to…process.”

“Witnessing the death of a person is…disturbing.” Curiosity had peaked between the fatigue and guilt but he’d stopped himself. If she _was_ speaking from experience, then it wasn’t likely that she’d want to talk about it with him. Their ‘discussion’ of her marriage came back to his mind.

“Yeah. I know I couldn’t have done anything, but…I still feel-” He cut himself off, remembering suddenly who he was talking to. She didn’t need more ammunition against him. “Sorry, I uh…I’m just rambling, I’ll go…” She let him leave and he hoped that she wasn’t considering watching him closely after that for signs of mental breakdown.

Now, standing in Sick Bay in the middle of the night, he suddenly realised that he’d reached out to the alien crewmembers before his human ones. Whilst he was all for diversity, there must be at least one human out of 80-odd he could turn to. He knew that Hoshi or Travis would listen, but as their superior officer it didn’t seem right to burden them. Perhaps Lieutenant Reed…? No. Though he obviously cared for members of his team, the Tactical Officer wouldn’t be interested in reassuring one of the senior officers and helping him sleep at night. That would probably go against his ideas of rank boundaries.

It was still a few hours until the Captain would usually wake up. Jon had shut down Trip’s last attempt to see how he was coping with losing a crewmember – even though he’d been an imposter. That had been two days ago and whilst the ship was slowly going back to normal after such a big shock, the Captain was clearly still stewing. Maybe this was a bad idea, but he doubted T’Pol would have much luck and being there for the Captain was kind of his responsibility anyway. A small part of him also wanted Jon to comfort _him_ a little, a firm hand squeezing his shoulder and warm brown eyes would be real nice. He slipped back out of Sick Bay and to E deck. He rang the chime to the Captain’s quarters, skin crawling a little at the eerie quiet of the hallway. Jon answered in his sweats, hair mussed but eyes alert, implying he’d already been awake. To be polite, Trip asked.

“Sorry, were you asleep?”

“Eh, couldn’t really call it that. Come in.” He stepped back so Trip could duck past him. “Can’t sleep?”

“No…” He looked around the room briefly, randomly thinking about the good-natured argument they’d had about which deck the Captain’s quarters should be on; he’d thought the most logical place was just underneath the Bridge on B deck, so he could reach it quickly, but Jon had completely disagreed. He’d argued that he would need distance from the burdens of Command and the turbolifts would get him to the top of the ship just as quickly if he was on E deck. Trip had joked that the Captain just didn’t want to give up plans for a double bed and Jon had just looked at him and asked if he wanted Porthos to be cooped up in a tiny room all day.

 _Enough stalling_. Trip breathed in and took the plunge. “I keep dreaming about it.” Instantly knowing what he was talking about, Jon just looked at him sadly. “I can’t stop seeing him…” Okay, so maybe he needed comfort more than he thought. Now shame crept in as he couldn’t even finish his sentence. Finally, Jon put an arm over his shoulder and Trip pressed his face to his friend’s chest, breathing in his smell. Melting into the embrace, Trip was dismayed as his eyes began to burn. It was just distress about Daniels’ death, he told himself. Nothing else. Gulping down the lump in his throat, he tried to enjoy the embrace. Whilst they hadn’t been too tactile before, he still missed the occasional hug or just standing close enough to feel the heat from his friend’s body. “Sorry.” He mumbled eventually. Jon rubbed his back soothingly and reassured him.

“No, Trip, it’s okay. It must have been…pretty bad.” Sniffing, Trip pushed himself away; his throat felt scratchy but he managed.

“How’re you holding up?” Seeing Jon open his mouth, he warned sternly. “N don’t just say you’re fine, cos I know you can’t be.” Jon closed his mouth, conceded the point reluctantly and then he said honestly.

“I have no idea how I am.” He turned away and began pacing. Trip moved to perch on the end of the bed. “I regret that Daniels died but…he wasn’t ever really a member of the crew, not really.” He shook his head. “I’m still trying to get my head round all this…Temporal Cold War stuff.” Trip had to agree.

“It’s crazy to think that folks from the future are coming here and messing around.”

“It’s insane. And yet I can’t see any other explanation.” Jon came to a stop, hands on hips. Trip ventured.

“T’Pol said that maybe we wanted to believe it was time travel.” Rubbing his face, Jon huffed a small, tired laugh.

“Things would have been a lot simpler if it hadn’t been. If it had just an elaborate hoax, we wouldn’t have as much to worry about it.” His gaze turned to the window and the stars flashing by. “If Daniels was right then there’ll likely be more trouble coming.” He whispered. “Worst thing is: we can’t prepare for it.” Trip had never heard Jon use this lost, hopeless tone before and he hated it.

“We can prepare for the Suliban though. Malcolm’s almost done modifying the hand-scanners and ship sensors to see through their cloaking tech and Phlox and T’Pol say it won’t be long before all sensors are calibrated for Suliban bio-signs.” Jon nodded, a little bolstered and looked back at him.

“What about everything else?” Trip stood then, determined to inspire his friend as Jon had always managed to inspire him.

“We’ve dealt with everything that’s come our way so far. We’ll just have to trust that we can handle it when it comes.” In the quiet intimacy of the moment, he slipped up: “We’ve got the best people, Jon. We can do this.” Jon’s expression changed and Trip forced himself to meet his gaze, trying to ignore the fact that this was the first time he’d used the man’s Christian name in about 18 months. He thought he could see pain in the creases in his friend’s face. He definitely felt them reflected in his own heart. He’d tried to avoid thinking about how their relationship had changed since that fateful day they’d received their orders and the night he confessed his feelings. It was better to just exist in the moment, easier to accept their new reality if he didn’t constantly compare it to what they’d had before. There, in Jon’s quarters, only a foot away from his friend’s warm body, he wondered if Jon did the same the thing. Eventually, Jon said quietly.

“I know, Trip. I know.” Trip’s heart began to beat a little faster as a tangle of emotions twisted themselves together in his chest. Then Porthos proved what a good boy he was by whining for attention, cutting clean through the moment. Chuckling, Jon turned away to pet him, cooing sympathetically and Trip swallowed harshly. He took his leave, knowing that despite his exhaustion, he wouldn’t get any sleep before the alarm went off.

…

               The following weeks were thankfully quiet, giving everyone time to process Daniel’s death. The Investigation was carried out by Lieutenant Reed in coordination with Captain Chang, an Investigations Officer, on Earth; reviewing the data and interviewing all parties involved. In the end, Trip did have to describe the events again, though Reed’s steady and strangely empathetic presence had kept him from combusting from frustration. Using all the witness statements, the Captain’s unofficial report and other data, Chang and Reed completed the confidential final report. It found that there hadn’t been any fault from the _Enterprise_ crew but some further investigation and restructuring into the Admissions department was needed.

Meanwhile, Trip kept an eye on the crew, with the help of the Captain, Phlox and T’Pol. Phlox had made it known that he was available for counselling or just informal chats with affected crew members, T’Pol compared the crew’s performance to previous records to check for anomalies and the Captain and Trip just made the rounds, showing that they were open to talk but also promoting calm and confident manners in the wake of the tragedy.

In one example of this tactic, Trip saw Hoshi and Travis in the Mess Hall one day, looking subdued. As he walked over, he could hear their conversation. Hoshi was saying.

“It seems so surreal. I mean I know we’ve been in dangerous situations but…” Travis nodded.

“I know. My parents have been in their fair share of tight spots but…they never lost anyone, not even in an accident.” Trip reached them and sat down, asking as they nodded to acknowledge him.

“How are you holding up?” Hoshi answered first.

“Fine, sir.” She looked at Travis. “We were just saying that neither of us knew him personally but…” Trip nodded.

“He was a member of this crew. It hasn’t been that long but, we’re gonna be a long way from home for a while. We need each to support each other.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lieutenant Reed walking slowly towards them, in that way he had of making himself known but not inviting himself to the table. Used to this, Trip waved him over and Travis asked immediately.

“How’s the investigation going?”

“Travis…” Trip started, but Malcolm held a hand up. He cut into his steak with a little more force than necessary as he answered.

“We’re almost done. You can read the report same as everyone else when it’s filed and signed off.” Hoshi shook her head.

“It’s just so shocking: all the dangers out here are one thing, but someone dying...” Hearing the fear in her tone, Trip was about to reassure Hoshi but Malcolm beat him to it.

“We’ve taken all possible steps to prevent this from happening again.” He said in a firm and completely confident tone; so much so that even Trip felt reassured. Nodding gratefully, Hoshi and Travis finished up, busing their trays and getting back to the Bridge. Trip was about to make his excuses and leave as well when Reed stopped him.

“How are you, Commander?” It took a moment for Trip to register that the question was for him. He blinked and looked down at his tray.

“Uh, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Trouble sleeping?” Could he detect a slight softening at the edges of the Lieutenant’s tone? It was hard to tell.

“A little. I mean, it’s to be expected, right? I’ll get over it.” Reed hummed in response and Trip assessed him for a moment before nodding back and leaving for Engineering.

Although Trip had been dealing with nightmares for years, usually they only came in short bursts on the back of something traumatic, or on occasion out of the blue. Two or three nights of interrupted sleep and then he was back to his usual cycle. Ever since _Daedalus._ This time it was different. He was back in Engineering, watching the Suliban disintegrate various people, not just Daniels. The Captain, Hoshi, Malcolm, even T’Pol. Eventually he would work out that he was dreaming but he wouldn’t wake up. He couldn’t. He was stuck watching. There was no explosion to wake him up. Nothing to kick him out. Just a parade of slowing disintegrating people as he stood rooted to the ground. Useless. He’d go through every day thinking that the nightmare run was over but every night, they just kept coming.

During the second week of recurring nightmares, Trip caved and went to Phlox to give him something to help him sleep. The Captain had commented on the circles under his eyes and Reed had asked him how he was again, but everyone was dealing with the tragedy in their own way. No one seemed to think he was reacting oddly. The doctor of course asked him if he wanted to try and treat the cause of them, talk through the terrible event. But Trip had been living with the ghosts of _Daedalus_ in his dreams for years, he’d long since accepted them as part of his life. He didn’t want to sit down and think about why. This was just the same thing in a different flavour and would fade with time. Finally, Phlox tutted and prescribed sleep medication for a few days, but no more. Luckily, the first night he spent without the hypospray, if he did dream, he didn’t remember. That was good enough for him.

…

It was the exact opposite of surprise when he got that letter from Natalie with those fateful words. Hell, he’d already told T’Pol that none of his relationships had ever worked out, including the one with Natalie. That didn’t mean that it didn’t sting a little.

He wished that Jon hadn’t brought her up in front of Reed. Not that he thought the Armoury Officer would start poking his nose in, but Trip really didn’t want anyone speculating about his – now non-existent – love life. Either the usually tight-lipped Brit _had_ shared the gossip or someone had overheard him talking with the Captain in Engineering, because after the excitement had all died down, Ensign Kimball had cornered him at a plasma junction to offer her condolences.

He’d been very embarrassed. Julia was a tough cookie, but sometimes her motherly instinct shone through. Others in the team joked that she was practising for motherhood and if she’d been a higher rank, she would have had plenty of opportunity to practise scolding the Commander for all of his shenanigans. As far as he understood, her wife was a marine biologist and from her interview, it hadn’t been an easy decision to leave her behind. But every mail delivery there was a vid message from Sarah, asking about the Engineering team and relating funny stories from her work. The proud wife had shown her team some of them, knowing they’d get a laugh from the tales and it was obvious to all of them that Sarah loved their Life Support Engineer dearly. Somehow, the pair made it work. Trip would be lucky to find someone half as devoted to him as Julia was to her wife, even lightyears away, so her trying to console him over what was a pretty superficial relationship made him feel uncomfortable. He managed to extricate himself somewhat gracefully and neatly sidestepped an invitation to tea with Kimball and some of the other women on the team. Whilst his sisters and female friends had acclimatised him to women’s natural affinity for discussing and analysing relationships and emotions together, he wasn’t willing to even think about his previous relationships, let alone talk about them. Anyway, he was mostly sure that it had been a polite offer and not entirely genuine; not many people were brave enough to gossip in front of their superior officer, no matter how relaxed their command style was.

It said something about his team that they were back to joking and chatting the day after they’d fought off the mysterious attackers. Hess had teased Trip about his speech to the Engineering and Armoury team but had also assured him that he’d helped ease some of the team’s worries. He was proud of them for pulling off the impossible and not showing any signs of buckling under the stress of those few days. He toyed with the idea of putting in a commendation for the whole team and mentioned it to the Captain. Archer had approved of the idea in theory, but advised that it probably wouldn’t be approved.

“Nice thought, though. Hell, I’d put one in for the whole ship if I could.” Trip had smiled, heart swelling at the pride in Archer’s voice.

Luckily, the Captain took a special interest in celebrating Malcolm’s birthday, so everyone was distracted. Another plus: Trip wouldn’t have to arrange something for the mysterious Englishman. All he suggested to the Captain was that a big party in the Mess probably wasn’t something the reclusive man would enjoy. Reed deserved something special after his exceptional work during the crisis.

He was everything his record had promised and more. His idea to hook canons directly into the impulse engines was genius but when he first heard the idea, Trip’s eyes suddenly burned with the afterimage of Daedalus’ explosion. He knew the ending of this story: fire and guilt. It was all he could do not to lose his temper and order Reed to shut everything down immediately. Then he heard himself telling the Captain that everyone accepted the risks, knew that the mission was worth it. A second pep-talk to the Captain within a week…That wasn’t an encouraging thought.

Anyway, if there was one thing Trip wasn’t, it was a hypocrite. He left to find Lieutenant Reed as soon as he could get away and the last of his doubts were vanquished by the Lieutenant’s tired but determined expression. How could Trip have forgotten the man’s impressive record? He was an experienced Tactical Officer and knew what he was talking about. They could do this and against all the odds, they did. Still, that didn’t stop the old familiar ghost of _Daedalus_ from haunting him that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t until I was writing this series that I realised that Crewman Daniels must have been officially listed as dead after ‘Cold Front’ but no one ever mentions the fall out. Wouldn’t there have been an inquiry? Or at least a faked one as the truth couldn’t come out? Did they just make do with one less steward for the rest of the time? It was fun to think of what would have happened.  
> Also, confusingly the dates for ‘Cold Front’ and ‘Silent Enemy’ are listed on memoryalpha as 2151-09-09 and 2151-09-01 respectively, meaning that they were broadcast out of order. I started writing this chapter in the broadcast order before I noticed this so I just bumped ‘Cold Front’ back a few weeks to 2151-08-20, figuring the crew would need some time to come to terms with ‘Daniels’ death’.


	5. Friends and Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Doctor, Sleeping Dogs and Shadows of P’jem.

Over the next few days, he noted a slight shift in his interactions with Lieutenant Reed. He was aware of the man’s attractiveness and his fierce efficiency and competency was a big turn on, especially the way he wielded a phase pistol. The crew as a whole was made up of young, fit and attractive people. Luckily none of them were Trip’s type, but Reed certainly did come close, ticking the physically dominating box. He was glad that he wasn’t in the Armoury team and have to spar with the lithe but muscular ninja –sneaking a peek at a training session had stirred his loins and he’d hurried off to cool down before anyone saw him.

Trip had reluctantly admitted to himself that he admired the man, both intellectually and physically. Also, once they’d found common ground – building the canons themselves and modifying them – he realised that they made a good team. Although their personalities were vastly different, they were both fiercely dedicated to their work and would power through until the problems were fixed. It helped that Trip had realised that the Armoury Officer’s cool manner was merely a front.

That little comment about the aliens not finding them interesting was one of a growing number of sarcastic asides from the usually uptight Brit. Trip had also noticed little smirks on Reed’s face whenever he’d blown something up or finally fixed buggy simulations, but the smile on his lips when he’d realised that damn cake was pineapple…that had been something else. Could anyone or anything – save pineapple – get past that thick shell? Trip wanted to prompt that smile himself. Yes. They probably wouldn’t ever be bosom buddies, but Trip was confident that they could find an equilibrium, especially if someday he could convince that uptight son of a gun to relax enough to call him ‘Trip’ instead of ‘sir’.

Turns out, he hadn’t been the only one to notice this.

“I saw you in the Mess with Malcolm the other day.” Jon said innocently at dinner. They were alone as T’Pol was meditating or something and so far, it had been nice and relaxed. Trip nodded vaguely, half his mind on a bug in one of the protein re-sequencers which had been bothering him. “You looked cosy.” That made Trip pause and after glancing at Jon’s twinkling eyes he put down his cutlery and said clearly.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Malcolm.” Jon took a sip of wine before asking knowingly.

“But you want something to be going on?” Trip’s skin felt itchy. He’d never really discussed his relationships with Jon, for obvious reasons. Although Jon would sometimes offer details of his own or on crushes, Trip rarely reciprocated in any real way – his mostly fake crush on Ruby notwithstanding. It was odd that Jon would randomly start on this now. What was his game? Trip also didn’t like the fact that he’d clearly not been as discreet as he’d thought about his new interest in the Tactical Officer. He kept his tone light as he replied.

“Come on Cap’n, me and Malcolm? Wouldn’t really work would it?” Jon shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t answer my question though, does it?” Trip sighed.

“Cap’n…” Jon held up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not trying to interfere. I’m just calling it like I see it.” Giving him one more side-eye, Trip shook his head before picking up his fork again.

“I’m here to do my job, not hook up with anyone.” Jon nodded and just like that the subject was dropped. However, that night, Trip worried about what, if anything, Jon was planning. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of matchmaking? Whilst a relationship between himself and the Lieutenant wouldn’t technically be a violation of regs, romantic entanglements in general were hardly encouraged. Why would the Captain consider suggesting the idea? If anything he should be cautioning against it but his tone hadn’t been cautionary or Captain-like; he couldn’t have been fishing to then warn Trip off. Could he? So what was he thinking?

Whatever it was, Trip was sure he wasn’t going to like it.

…

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, a few weeks later _Enterprise_ ran into something big enough to distract the Captain from any plotting. Like the majority of the crew, Trip had been sympathetic to the Valakians’ plight and genuinely hoped that they could help. With nothing he could do personally, he worked on keeping optimal power levels flowing into Sickbay and prioritising any requests for repairs to medical equipment as Phlox and the Medical teams collected data and worked on a cure. The people who’d gone planet-side had reported that the capital city of the astronaut’s home continent had been sleek and technically advanced, reminding most of them of San Francisco. However, the Menk’s ‘area’ was much more primitive, made of wood with dirt flooring. Cutler had likened it to the divide between cities and villages which had existed in some Asian countries in the 21st century. Some of the Medical team had been taken aback by Phlox’s lack of concern with the power imbalance between the Valakians and Menk. His live and let live attitude did have merit, Trip considered, but reminded him that their doctor had been raised with different values with a completely different outlook.

They broke orbit from Valakis on September 17th with a subdued atmosphere on board. Reading the Captain’s report, Trip was glad that he hadn’t needed to make that kind of call. It seemed way above a Captain’s paygrade, deciding whether to avert the natural evolutionary extinction of an entire race of people. Definitely not something they taught on the Command course. Trip sincerely hoped that no one at HQ would give the Captain any stink for his decision. On the ship, he overheard some chatter about it, the biologists and medical team apparently had a whole ethical debate one shift. Kelly told him that it had gotten pretty heated but no one seemed to be condemning the Captain for the decision, so Trip left it alone. What would he be able to contribute to a moral dilemma like that anyway? Though there were other things he could do.

He commed the Captain and suggested a beer and a few games of nine-ball. Archer seemed glad for the distraction and they met up in the Rec Room. It was about half the size of the Mess Hall, with two pool tables, some foldable card tables, sofas and an assortment of board games. Thanks to his mathematical mind and nimble fingers, Trip had always been good at pool table games though the Captain always gave him a run for his money. Typical Captain Good-At-Everything. They played a few rounds, nursing a few beers and reminiscing about shared memories. It was Movie Night, so the room was quiet with only a pair of Ensigns playing chess in the corner.

The Movie Night idea had been something Trip had floated before _Enterprise’s_ launch. He knew they had event nights on some ships and the poker games at Jupiter station were legendary. Including one particular night in which a certain Commander-soon-to-be-Captain had lost all of his clothes in a game of strip poker. Trip had warned him! But Commander Know-It-All had brushed off his concerns and lost spectacularly. The winner had made him do a lap of the Observation Deck before returning any of his clothes. It was Gamma shift so only a skeleton crew were around to catch a glimpse of a fine specimen of a Starfleet Officer racing past. It was both one of the best nights of Trip’s life and valuable blackmail material on his best friend. However, _Enterprise_ was the Fleet’s new flagship with a Hell of a lot riding on its success, so Trip had been warned to keep any extracurricular activities appropriate and above board. It wasn’t until they were underway that he got the chance to put his idea into action.

First, he’d liaised with Crewman Thames, the Head Steward, about using the Mess Hall. The Rec Room was too small and they wouldn’t be able to clear one of the cargo bays on a regular basis. He wasn’t sure how many people would attend anyway. With that in mind, he brought it up at the department heads meeting; asking them to tell their departments and get a gauge on numbers. Lieutenant Reed had huffed, remarking crisply that he hoped the program wouldn’t be full of drippy romance movies whilst Hoshi explained the concept to Phlox. Unsurprisingly, he was excited at the opportunity to study more human behaviour. T’Pol just looked like she had a headache coming on.

“Don’t worry Malcolm, we’ll just play the classics.” Trip looked around the room. “Any suggestions?” Reed bristled slightly and Trip wondered what he’d said to offend the man. Hoshi broke the moment by suggesting a wide selection of genres both classics and critically-acclaimed recent releases. They all agreed on this strategy and no one argued with Trip’s suggestion that he manage the program. After the first few movies, he started getting requests and it became an event night for some people, much to his pride. He had yet to persuade T’Pol to attend though. For some reason, he was morbidly curious to learn her opinion on some of the movies they were showing. She would probably turn her nose up and dismiss them but still, he wanted to know. He added it to his list of personal goals. One day…

In the Rec room, having won 4 games of 6, Jon said casually.

“The National Water Polo Championship is starting soon.” Trip grunted acknowledgment as he concentrated on lining up his next shot; Jon went on. “We should watch some games sometime.” Trip hummed non-committedly and then sunk a red. Straightening up, he saw Jon was leaning on his cue stick, watching him expectantly.

“Yeah.” He said noncommittedly. Jon took his turn, saying enthusiastically.

“I’ll teach you how to appreciate the artistry, don’t you worry.” Smiling a little despite his reluctance to watch nearly-naked men frolicking in water with his Captain, Trip said again.

“Yeah sure.” Luckily Jon didn’t seem to need anything else from him right then. He was safe for now.

…

The next morning, he dropped by Sickbay but Phlox wasn’t there. Frowning, he went to the Mess and spotted the good doctor sitting with Liz Cutler. They seemed to be having a serious conversation so he didn’t want to interrupt. Should he get a drink and wait until they were done or just try another time? They did look very close…

“Aren’t they cute together?” Trip jumped a little, turning to see Hoshi had sidled up beside him silently. He took a moment to process her words.

“’Together’ as in ‘together-together’?” Smiling at his phrasing, she smiled.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” He looked back at them. Why was he surprised by that? Cutler was a smart and attractive woman and Phlox was…exotic and also highly intelligent. Then his mind began to race with all the possible implications. But were they compatible? Would it be a completely asexual relationship or…? Wasn’t Phlox married? He couldn’t remember. What if… No, the doctor would know better but- Hoshi must have seen something on his face as she asked cautiously.

“Is there something wrong with that?” He glanced down at her.

“No.” Looking back at the couple he said carefully. “I just… I’m wondering about…practicalities.” Snorting and blushing a bit, Hoshi chortled.

“I’m not an expert in Denobulan reproduction but I’m pretty sure there won’t be any happy accidents.” He just nodded before changing the subject.

“How do you think he’s fitting in?”

“Phlox? Pretty well. He seems to get on with most people. It can’t be easy being the only one of your species on a ship full of aliens.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“I don’t know, Commander. You seem to get on pretty well with other species.” He shot her an ‘are-you-sure-you-want-to-sass-a-superior-officer?’ look. She just looked amused back so he huffed a laugh; he couldn’t ever get angry at Hoshi. But even still, he changed the subject again.

“So, has anyone caught _your_ eye?”

“Me?” He didn’t know why she looked so surprised. Had no one even dropped any hints? She was young, beautiful and a firecracker; what was wrong with this crew? Not that he wanted her harassed but, not even a few compliments? Really?

“Yeah, tell me you haven’t noticed how Crewman Baird blushes whenever you look his way.”

“Commander!”

“What? It’s true!”

“I’m his superior officer!” She sounded mildly-shocked, but then conceded with a small grin. “And I’m pretty sure he blushes whenever anyone looks at him.” Trip hummed, she was probably right.

“Okay, what about Crewman Watson? Surely no one really wants to know that much about translating ancient Klingon combat rituals without an ulterior motive?”

“How did you…? Never mind. No, nothing is going on there and it never will.” He put his hands up in mock-surrender, smirking. He also made a mental note to thank Kelly for the tip later. Hoshi narrowed her eyes and threw it back to him. “What about you?” Trip didn’t even need to think; he just automatically reeled off one of his ready excuses.

“And take precious time away from my babies?” She folded her arms.

“Okay, it’s a little disturbing how you anthropomorphise those death traps.”

“Hey! You have those ‘death traps’ to thank for getting you to all these interesting planets.” She just smirked and he was suddenly reminded of Lizzie whenever she’d tease him. Sobering a little, he asked sincerely. “But you’re okay, right? No more doubts?” Realising what he was getting at, her smile softened and she said firmly.

“I’m good, thanks.” She breathed in deeply, looking around the room with a small smile on her face. “Nowhere I’d rather be.” He smiled too.

“Good.”

…

The next day, he went back to Sickbay, happy to find the doctor just finishing his round of feeding the animals. They exchanged greetings, Trip keeping well back from the cages.

“Saw you in the Mess Hall yesterday with Ensign Cutler.” He grinned, happy to be able to tease the man. The doctor was confused but when Trip waggled his eyebrow he understood, having been taught the meaning of that facial movement from Hoshi. By way of explanation, Trip just said. “Hoshi.”

“Ah, we’ve decided to try being friends and…” he was obviously quoting someone when he explained: “see where it goes. Yes?” Trip nodded, a weight lifting off his chest.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Finishing up, Phlox went over to the sink to wash his hands, asking curiously.

“Are you asking as a friend or as the Second Officer?” He didn’t even need to think, answering immediately.

“As a friend, Doc. I trust you.”

“So, was that what you wanted to see me about?”

“No. Actually, I wanted to check how you were. After all the business with the Valakians... It sounded like a tough call.” Nodding wearily, Phlox’s smile dimmed.

“Yes, that’s to put it mildly.” Tentative, Trip asked.

“You good with the Captain?”

“Yes. We have reached an understanding.”

“I’m glad. I hate arguing with the Cap’n, you never win and he makes you feel bad for doubting him.” Phlox laughed softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“Well, I don’t think I’m in any danger of disagreeing with him in the near future.”

“I hope not.”

“And how are you, Commander? It’s been a while since we spoke about...” Trip realised what he was referring to and interrupted.

“Ah, yeah. Um, I’m okay. It’s all in the past.” The doctor looked sceptical but didn’t stop him from making his excuses and leaving.

…

Damn Klingons! How had they ever achieved Warp when they were so concerned with beating everything that moved! An entire civilisation built on throwing their lives away in the pursuit of ‘honour’, which was really dominating others, was just nuts. Trip didn’t know what he would have advised they do if he’d known that they’d be threatened after saving that crew’s lives.

He’d been working on reinforcing the Shuttlepod when with a jolt, he realised that he felt better about the away team’s predicament because they had T’Pol with them. Hoshi was proving to be a capable officer and it was hard to imagine Malcolm getting into a situation that he couldn’t puzzle his way out of. Even so, T’Pol was more experienced and could offer solutions that no other crew member would think to try. They had the best chance of getting through with her presence. He didn’t know how to feel about that. It had been five months since she had questioned his professional integrity and viciously ripped into him about getting impregnated by Ah’len. Since then, a lot had changed. He couldn’t claim to _like_ her but, he trusted her to be useful, vital even, and also to keep the crew safe. So in fact his realisation wasn’t anything new, was it? Yet somehow it was. Usually the only person he would trust to always get people out of impossible situations was the Captain. Had the Vulcan Officer risen to the same esteem as his oldest friend? His heart said no, but he wasn’t so sure if that was right.

The next morning, he dropped by her quarters before shift start. Phlox had given all of the away team the all-clear but with his growing experience of away missions, Trip knew that sometimes things could stay with you a while after. Guilty happy that he hadn’t been involved in any of the trouble, he felt even more obligated than usual to check on everyone. T’Pol told him to come in and he gingerly stepped into her quarters, half-prepared to be told to leave shortly. As usual, the Science Officer was perfectly attired and groomed, with only the barest hint of Klingon smell still lingering. Aware of her super nose, his first comment was.

“That smell is something, huh?” An eyebrow tip raised and she asked bluntly.

“Is there a point to your visit, Commander?”

“Just wanted to check in, see how you were doing after all the excitement yesterday.”

“I have completely recovered from any…inconvenience that might have arisen from yesterday’s events.” Trip fought the urge to sigh.

“Right.” The beginnings of an awkward silence made him grasp for more things to say. “Bet you’re glad that you weren’t assigned to a Klingon vessel, huh?”

“Commander, I must leave to begin my shift.” Now this was definitely an untruth, but he considered it an improvement from her just stating that she wanted him to leave. Giving her once last glance over, he left to check on the others.

He found Hoshi in the Hydroponics Bay. She’d mentioned once how peaceful it was and it was the only space on the ship which didn’t use recycled air. Spending time in there was like being in a large indoor garden back on Earth; there were rows upon rows of fertile green leaves, the sounds of the pumps and buzz of the overheard lights off-set by the fans which regulated the temperature and wafted freshness of fresh o2 around. Some of the plants grew high enough that a smallish person could walk unseen on ground level, giving a rare sense of privacy in such a small ship. She wasn’t alone in her appreciation either.

The Maintenance Crew had complained of off-duty crewmembers loitering in the Bay, getting in their way. The Duty Manager had implemented a ban on non-essential personnel in the Bay but once the Captain heard he suggested an alternative: a rota of simple maintenance tasks (like cleaning the tanks and equipment or monitoring for signs of disease) that anyone could sign up to and therefore spend time there. No one dared mention the Captain’s bias in that regard as he walked Porthos there, often having to apologise profusely as the little scamp sometimes tried to water the plants himself. The Maintenance Crew still grumbled, especially as some of the ‘volunteers’ didn’t do the best job and they felt that babysitting had been added to their job description, but they understood the appeal and so accepted the compromise. Everyone appreciated this even more when the Hydroponics team was asked to cover some Steward duties in the wake of Daniels’ death.

Hoshi was assessing a batch of peppers when Trip came in, PADD in hand and humming to herself. She looked so at peace that he almost didn’t want to interrupt her, but then he bumped into a pH level monitor which began beeping angrily at him. Panicking, he hurried to try and make it stop, but luckily a slim hand reached out and pressed the right button. The accompanying giggle didn’t dent his relief.

“Morning, Commander.” She said coyly, still grinning at his sheepish wave to the scowling Crewman Naiman a few rows away.

“Hey Hoshi,” he said normally, then hissed as he grabbed her elbow and turned them away, “save me!” She grabbed his sleeve back and lead him behind a large tomato plant. “Thanks! I owe you one.”

“No sweat. Missed out on the rota this month?”

“No, actually I was here for you, wanted to see how you were doing after yesterday.” Although she tensed a little, she seemed genuine as she reassured him.

“I’m okay. Not something I’d want to do again anytime soon, but we made it out.” She made a face. “I also hope I don’t have to smell Klingon again for a while, if ever.” Trip sympathised completely.

“Yeah, it’s not something you ever get used to. Trust me, 3 hours in a decon chamber with them and it still smelled as bad at the end as when I went in.”

“Try a ship-full!” He laughed and the double-checked.

“No, thanks! So you’re okay?” She smiled warmly.

“I’m okay.” Spotting Naiman coming back into view, Trip started. He flashed Hoshi a quick smile and then turned tail, hurrying out with as much dignity as he could muster.

Malcolm was in the Training Room, running Ensign Zabel through some phase pistol trials. Trip didn’t want to be beheaded by a sarcastic Brit, so he swung by the Armoury to discuss the latest torpedo trials carried out back home with Ensigns Hart and Marcel. They got a little side tracked by arguing about speed vs accuracy and Trip was so involved in the debate that he missed Reed approaching until a loud sneeze by his ear made him jump out of his skin.

“Whoa! Jesus, Malcolm! Warn a guy!” Reed was too busy wiping his nose on a handkerchief to answer back, though he narrowed his eyes as he recovered.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded testily.

“Yeah, I got an idea for those phase canon schematics, you got ‘em handy?” Still eyeing him, Malcolm stalked to his office, Trip trailing after him. As Malcolm reached up to his perfectly ordered shelf of PADDs, Trip shut the door behind them. “How’s the cold doing?” Reed scowled as imperiously as possible with his red nose, slapping the PADD into Trip’s hand.

“It’s fine, Commander. Your idea?” Trip hesitated, aware of the danger he was in.

“And apart from that, you’re okay? You know, after yesterday.”

“I am perfectly fine, sir. I cleared Decon just like the others.” Suddenly understanding how Phlox must feel sometimes, Trip tried again.

“That’s great Malcolm, but I meant how you’re holding up emotionally.” Even weakened by a cold, the death glare was still hot enough to burn. Luckily, Tuckers were fearless to the point of foolishness at times, so Reed’s glares rarely had any effect on the engineer.

“Your idea, sir?”  The steel wall, however, seemed to be impervious to the Tucker fire, so reluctantly, Trip dropped it and they talked shop for a few minutes before Reed invented a reason to bail. Well, at least Trip had learned one of the Lieutenant’s warning signs for retreat. He’d lost this battle, but the war was still on.

…

Trip had been genuinely disappointed when Archer had revealed that he wasn’t going to take him down to the fascinating Warp shipyards on Coridan. Then he’d been really happy when he’d realised that Jon had been teasing him. Both that he would be going after all but also that Jon was showing his playful side. The whole Valakian business and then the Klingons being combative ingrates and taken a bit of a toll on the Captain’s good humour. The teasing indicated a return to form of the eager and wide-eyed explorer. Though it was short lived.

When Jon told him in tight tones in orbit over Coridan that T’Pol was being forcibly reassigned, however, Trip had been furious. Not only were they being illogical jerks and hiding behind their precious ancient culture, but they were depriving _Enterprise_ of a crucial crewmember. He wouldn’t feel as secure out in deep space without T’Pol and he knew the Captain certainly wouldn’t either. And another thing: were they just supposed to make do without a Head of the Science Department? Sure they could promote one of the science officers as a stop-gap measure, but Trip wouldn’t really consider any of them as a long term solution. Dr Horatio had accepted a position on the _Shenandoah_ and it wasn’t like they would go all the way back to Earth to pick anyone else up. The arrogance of the Vulcan High Command really irritated him as he was dead certain that disrupting command structure would have been one of their concerns had the roles been reversed.

To heap more problems on an already shitty situation Jon had been held hostage, again. This time he’d only walked away with bruises and rope burn but Trip still couldn’t shake the anxiety he’d been ignoring ever since they’d received word of the hostage situation. Accompanying the Captain, T’Pol and Malcom to Sickbay, he’d had to work hard to concentrate on what people were saying, his ears beginning to ring. Phlox gave them all ointment for the rope burn and prescribed bed rest for the frayed nerves. Not that any of them would admit to being emotionally distressed. Rubbing his wrists, Trip gave in to his tiredness and collapsed into bed.

He’d never seen the appeal of using handcuffs and the like in the bedroom and after having been captured and trussed up by their Andorian friends, he was definitely turned off for life. Just thinking about the bonds cutting into his wrists made him shiver with remembered dread. All the time as he’d sat in the dark, Malcolm’s steady breathing his only company, he’d been cursing his decision, worrying about the Captain and dreading finding out what lay ahead for them. The fact that Shran’s haughty voice and twitching antennas turned out to be a God send did little to settle his nerves. At least he hadn’t been tied up the first time, had been able to amble around, annoying the monks. He just thanked his lucky stars that Andorians seemed to live by an honour code. Shran easily could have let them be killed by the trap or refused to help Archer. Whilst not exactly staunch allies, at least the Andorians hadn't added themselves to the 'Enemy' category. 

He was doubly glad of Lieutenant Reed’s presence on the Bridge and on the planet. Being in charge was nerve-wracking enough without a hostage situation and impossible Vulcans muscling in and threatening the Captain and T’Pol’s lives. Sopek was like T’Pol in the beginning times ten. It was all Trip could do to keep his fists to himself. Thankfully, Reed’s steady presence had bolstered him and his silent approving nods for the Commander’s decisions had smothered any lingering doubts he had. He’d have to thank the Lieutenant, not that the stiff Brit would accept any praise with anything like grace. Sure enough, a clipped ‘I was just doing my job, sir’ was the response when he’d tried the next day to impart his thanks. Smiling wryly, Trip had just nodded and let Reed

Less than a week after the _Ni’Var_ had speeded away leaving T’Pol behind on _Enterprise_ and her fate uncertain, it was Captain Archer’s birthday. The atmosphere was a little subdued as they were still waiting to hear the Vulcan’s final decision regarding T’Pol, so most of Trip’s previous ideas had seemed a little insensitive. They settled for a buffet in the Mess, no music just conversation with everyone off-shift attending. Phlox was regaling a small crowd with tales of his first wife’s increasingly disastrous attempts to cook and even T’Pol was there. She wasn’t talking to anyone for longer than two minutes at a time but her mere presence seemed to cheer Archer up. After an hour, the Captain was called away with a transmission from Starfleet Command. The whole room was pretty much holding its breath despite some valiant attempts to uphold conversations whilst they waited.

Archer came back grinning, making a beeline for T’Pol. Everyone relaxed but still tried to listen in as they talked. She inclined her head in acknowledgement and he announced the good news to the room. There wasn’t exactly a cheer but they managed a polite applause, Jon’s grin sticking to his face like glue. Trip clapped along with everyone else. Somehow she'd managed to become part of the fabric of _Enterprise_ and he couldn't imagine the ship without her. So he was happy she was staying. It was best for the ship and for his Captain. He was glad. And not at all bitter or resentful that his place by Jon’s side was still occupied by such an incredible woman and officer. Not at all.


	6. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of course Shuttlepod 1 gets its own chapter.

Although widely considered a holiday for children on Earth, Hallowe’en on _Enterprise_ was another excuse for the crew to distract themselves from the long stretches of dead space. The Quartermaster and her assistant were inundated with requests for costumes and decorations and had to call in help from the Stewards. The Captain put his foot down about wearing costumes whilst on duty, but Trip had put together a party planning committee who had some big ideas. Many of their ideas were not feasible with the resources they had – Ensign Cutler had regaled the committee with hijinks during the costume competition in her local town, which the Quartermaster had immediately vetoed.

“I’m not sacrificing any of my material for the crew to ruin with their unpractised fingers!” Cutler had looked like she was about to defend her sowing skills, so Trip had cut in, suggesting they think of something else. In the end, they decided on a double bill of scary movies, a ‘horror-filled’ buffet dinner and, of course, ghost stories.

Each department had its own theme for costumes and decoration of their section. Medical chose the theme of Denobulan legends. According to Phlox, demons used to roam the salt plains which stretched between the High Sea and the Golden Forest. Travellers making the perilous journey would disappear in the dark nights, never to be seen again. He relished telling anyone who asked a few of the most famous ‘cases’ of this phenomenon and the possible scientific explanations for the disappearances. So Sickbay was covered in blown up pictures of the salt plains and the team wore an ancient protective symbol used to ward off evil. Although a man of science, Phlox had vetoed actually dressing as the mythical demons on account of it being bad luck.

The Pilots chose ghosts in deference of Travis’ many Boomer-inspired horror stories, wearing white clothes and some even painting their faces. Trip held a vote and his team elected to honour some Russian legends, having been entertained by Rostov’s dramatic retellings. His Baba Yaga impression so creepy that Crewwoman Taylor refused to listen to any more of his stories.

The Science teams chose Vulcan legends as their theme. Although in contrast to Phlox, T’Pol did not participate and seemed to merely tolerate the endeavours of her team. Trip wondered at that. Surely even a Vulcan would appreciate aliens making an effort to understand and celebrate their culture? Even if it seemed a little freaky to him. Cutler had tried to explain the meaning behind the little figurines but after a while he waved her off, not really wanting to know.

The Armoury had apparently had a difficult time deciding on a theme. Reed had not appreciated Trip’s suggestion of a vampire-theme and as he was so serious with his team, only a few of them felt confident enough to make suggestions. In the end, they opted for wearing black clothes in an homage to ancient ninjas. No one questioned this decision, nervous of being stealth attacked. Finally, the Galley and Logistics teams chose harpies for some reason Trip never managed to find out.

The Mess Hall was decorated in black and orange, with pumpkin pie on the menu. That night, a double bill of movies featured: a popular horror movie from a few decades previous, about a serial killer in a small penal colony on a remote moon, and the classic: _Alien_. Settling down, Trip was excited to lose himself in the heart-pounding stories.

It was the stupidest thing. Trip had forgotten about the infamous scene of the alien baby bursting out from Kane’s chest. He suddenly remembered it when Kane was exposed and spent the next portion of the movie dreading it, his abdomen throbbing from the remembered weight of the embryonic sac. Looking away from the screen, he focused on the faces in the audience. He saw Hoshi covering her eyes, Travis and Malcolm’s rapt attention… and found himself watching Malcolm instead. The scene came and went and Trip focused on enjoying people’s shock and horror before sitting back and enjoying the rest of the film.

To his surprise, that scene with himself in the role of unlucky host didn’t appear in his dreams that night. He felt queasy if he lingered on the comparison but surprisingly his subconscious hadn’t pounced on the new material. So that was nice.

Ten days later, however, Trip and Malcolm found themselves in a living nightmare.

…

Seeing the debris, hearing Reed’s increasingly distressed voice, it didn’t seem real. The information didn’t register for a long moment. Then he snapped into problem-solving mode. They could not contact Starfleet until they were in range of Echo 3, so they would move in that direction. It didn’t matter if they were alive or not when that happened, that was protocol and it was there for a reason. So he ignored Malcolm’s despair and snapped at him. Though he couldn’t resist the urge to take another pass over the wreckage, a muted part of him noting that it was now a graveyard. Eventually, they started moving in the right direction and switching to the next task, the Commander ordered Reed to continue the analysis of the damage to the pod’s systems and monitor for any potential signals. Reed scoffed at the last bit but offered no argument. Tucker retreated to the back, working on the transceiver array, focusing on the thought of fixing it. They both stewed in their respective corners for a while.

At some point, Reed must have completed the analysis because he then began recording a report – read eulogy. Tucker bristled that the Lieutenant hadn’t asked permission or informed him of this ahead of time, his restraint not enough to stop the critical remarks from slipping out. Tensions rose as Reed was distracting him from fixing the array, he had to fight against the wave of despondency. Deep down he knew the likelihood of a miraculous rescue being as close to 0 as you could get, but hearing Reed’s defeated tone, his listlessness, stirred a fire in him. He argued, raised his voice, pushing Reed to do the same. He was rewarded by a pithy comment about waiting for a home-cooked meal off a passing ship and decided to take what he could get. When Reed found the Bourbon though… Jon’s mischievous smile flashed in front of his eyes…he’d never see that again. Forcing himself to focus on the meal and then going back to the transceiver, Trip tried once again to block out Reed’s continuing mission to relate his every thought and feeling to everyone he’d ever known. Never possessing the patience of a saint to begin with, it wasn't long before Trip began sniping at Malcolm.

Once he’d finally gotten Malcolm to shut up, he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of _Enterprise._ It was burning. Smoke filled the corridors and flames flared up out of conduits, sparks and explosions shaking the ship apart. The crew were being sucked out of holes in the hull, thrown across Engineering and the Bridge and suffocating as systems failed around them. Jon was on the Bridge, frantically trying to do something, anything, even as his expression showed that he knew it was pointless. Watching from the Shuttlepod, Trip was desperately trying to make it move but it was dead in the water. He turned to yell at Malcolm to help but only saw a frozen corpse beside him. He woke, gasping, clutching his blanket in a white-knuckle grip. The lights were low so he could hardly make out the bulkhead in front of him, blinking away the terrible white light that had engulfed all the screams… The pod was quiet. After he managed to slow his breathing, he turned his attention to his pod-mate. Hmm…he couldn’t feel a steely gaze on his back and Malcolm’s breathing sounded deep and even; he didn’t seem to have woken the other man up. Not that he wanted to roll over and check.

Suddenly, the enormity of what had happened hit him then. _Enterprise,_ the ship he’d toiled over in one form or another for years was _gone_ : just wreckage floating softly in space. The crew he’d helped select, some of them recruited personally, most he’d known and liked…They were all dead. So many young lives, so much potential lost. Gone. Jon was dead. Jon was _dead_. A small sob escaped him and he squeezed his eyes shut desperately. _Don’t break, don’t break, don’t break._ Fist stuffed into his mouth he used the other hand to cover his eyes. _Malcolm’s right there. He’ll hear you. He needs you to be strong. You can’t, you can’t_. He repeated those words over and over in his head until the tidal wave of despair had receded, still hovering over him, just not cresting yet.

Relaxing, he sniffed and wiped his face as carefully as he could. Then he just lay still for a while, not trying to sleep and not trying to think, just existing in the blank greyness of the pod. Eventually, he dropped off again. He woke up first the next ‘morning’. Sneaking a glance to the Lieutenant’s corner, he was glad that he was getting some rest. Breathing in the recycled air deeply, he pushed down the stray thought of how many more breaths he would have. He freshened up as much as he could and got back to work.

…

The excitement of the pod being struck and the puzzle of what it was seemed to smooth over some of the edges between the two men. They bantered as they discussed what to do – or not do – next. As the temperature dropped, however, the fairly light-hearted atmosphere dissipated quickly.

Trip didn’t think of his family. He didn’t think of _Enterprise._ He drowned out Malcolm’s voice by reciting instructions to repair transceivers in his head and when that didn’t work he snapped at him. The air grew colder and he started shivering, his body coiling into a tighter and tighter spring.  The voice of the Command course instructor began speaking to him from across the years, words that were longer just words, but an anthem, ringing in his head. In a crisis: focus on solving the problems, then on the wellbeing of your subordinates. In your duty there is nothing else, only those two concerns. And Trip tried so hard to do his duty. Random thoughts broke through his mental bulkheads, such as: he’d never noticed the scar on Malcolm’s upper lip before and he wondered how the man had come by it. Fight or accident? And the cold comfort that he wouldn’t have to mourn the best man he’d ever known for very long.

…

Of course they got stinking drunk. After Malcolm’s impassioned speech about how the crew had been becoming like family to him, giving Trip yet another bar of guilt strangling his heart, they’d drunk the Bourbon with abandon. Malcolm had rambled a bit about T’Pol’s womanly assets which had apparently made a big impression on him. Trip was struck between amusement and a niggle of something. Malcolm asked him and he thought for a moment why he _hadn’t_ ever noticed her ‘awfully nice bum’. He couldn’t think of an answer. But then after a pause, Malcolm began again.

“You know it’s funny. I was just beginning to think that Captain Archer was invincible, you know. Just serving on the same starship as him made me feel safe for some reason.” Trip thought that was a pretty good assessment of Jon as a person, so in no time at all, Malcolm was being treated to the Waldo tale. Trip managed to laugh, enjoying hear the little chortles the Englishman made, until he remembered that he and Jon had celebrated with Kentucky Bourbon, the same drink they were currently using to numb their passage into death.

“Commander, why don’t you want to record any messages?” The cold and drink were making it hard to think so Trip just shrugged. “Not fair,” Malcolm’s petulant complaint brought a small smile to Trip’s face, “I told you about me.” Trip looked at him out of the corner of his eye for a long moment before sighing. Malcolm rubbed his hands together and waited expectantly as Trip tried to engage his brain. Finally, Trip huffed and said quietly.

“No point. The only person I’d…want to say goodbye to is already dead.”

“Captain Archer?” Trip cursed his terrible poker face. Unable to think of a response, he let Mr Clever-Clogs make his deductions from his silence. _Damn, why wasn’t he saying anything?_ The silence scratching at him, he slurred suddenly. “No one knows, you know.” Malcolm blinked and frowned but didn’t interrupt. “They guess and they talk about us behind our backs, but no one _knows_. ‘Cept Jon.” He hiccupped before crooking his finger. Shakily, Malcolm passed the bottle over, trying to focus on his friend’s face. Trip took a swing and then continued with his monologue, his head feeling light and his tongue wild. “He knows a little, he knows that I love him. That I’ve loved him a long, long time. But he…” He frowned. “I don’t know if he _knows_ -knows…You know?” Finally, Malcolm said over-carefully the way only really drunk people do:

“That’s a lot of ‘knows’.” Shooting him a dark look and then blinking, considering Malcolm’s assertion, Trip opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the crackle of the comm.

Hoshi’s voice had never sounded so angelic.

…

After they’d jettisoned the engine and exploded it, the waiting to find out the results of their gambit was somehow anticlimactic and excruciating. The wave of relief at finding out Jon was still alive had swept over him and left just as abruptly. Instead, the reality of their situation was looming over them. They ended up sat side by side on the far end of the pod, passing the bottle back and forth. Malcolm began.

“So…” Trip interrupted, knowing by the tone exactly what his friend was going to say.

“Can you jus…forget I said anything?” Malcolm pouted.

“’Snot fair! I told you about my relationships.”

“It’s not…” Trip sighed, going for the truth, knowing that Malcolm would see through him anyway. “We’re not together, never have been, never will be.” Malcolm frowned.

“Wot? Never ever?” Trip pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

“Never ever.”

“’Scuse me Commander, but you don’t seem…” Suddenly wanting someone to know his sorry tale, Trip began cautiously.

“Look, I’ll tell ya, but then you gotta promise to not tell anybody.” Malcolm jerked his head forward in a nod but Trip just eyed him. “I mean nobody, not yer therapist, not yer priest...no one.” Meeting his eyes, Malcolm was solemn.

“I promise.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat. “Me n Jon met a long time ago when I was jus’ a Lieutenant on Captain Jefferies’ engineering team. I kinda had a thing for him before we met properly. What can I say? He was charmin’ and fit and his daddy was all engineers’ hero. But then we met and he was jus’ as good as I thought. You know they say you shouldn’t meet yer heroes?”

“Exception that proved the rule?”

“Bingo.” He took another sip and then went on. “But he’s a bit older than me and a superior officer – even though we ain’t in the same chain of command people might still talk. And he’s always gone with women as far as I know. So I jus’ keep my feelings to myself. Over the years I realise I’ve gone an’ fallen in love with him. But now he’s my best friend, I definitely can’t say a thing.” He breathed in deeply and regretted it as it seemed to make him even colder. Grimly, he ploughed on. “Now Jon’s a great guy but he’s practically married to Starfleet. This project, _Enterprise_ , it’s more important to him than anything, or anyone. I knew that I would never be able to make any relationship work, partly cos of ma feelings for him but also cos I’m so damn busy all the time. I tried a couple of times but…” Jamie’s face flashed before his eyes but he shook his head and carried on. “But Jon, he’s such a damn optimist, he went through, maybe almost as many women as you, trying to please ‘em and be there for ‘em. But…”

“Anyway, he gets serious with this one woman fer a few years, she might’ve be the One. But the moment they announce him as Captain of _Enterprise_ …he breaks it off. An we get drunk that night, me n’ him, celebrating but also commiseratin’ you know? It’s a funny night. I don’t actually remember all of it I got so hammered.”

“He tells me the next morning that I said I was in love with him.” He chuckled then, remembering how agonising that breakfast scene had been. “But turns out he kinda knew already. Erika, the girlfriend he’d just finished with, she told him. Set me up with Natalie…It was stupid of us, we both knew that we didn’t have it in us to make it work, anyway, that’s a whole other story.” Now some sadness crept into his voice. “After that Jon started pullin’ away from me. Firs’ I thought he was embarrassed or something but then I realised it’s cos he’s the Cap’n now and, we’re in the same chain ‘f command...” He trailed off, exhaustion making it hard to think. After a beat, Malcolm began cautiously.

“Forgive me for saying but I can’t imagine the two of you…” His upper lip twitched and he tilted his head down, sliding his eyes to Malcolm’s.

“I’ll forgive ya. It’s funny, I can’t imagine it either…So many years of being friends…He’s almost my big brother I guess. It’d be…” He shuddered a little. “What’s the word, Oedipal?”

“That’s mother-son incest.”

“Huh. Is there a word for brothers?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be right. But I love him, Malcolm. Think part of me always will.” Despite the cold, Malcolm managed to sound warm as he said with absolute certainty.

“He’s coming.” Trip tried to picture it, but like the memory of being warm, it alluded him.

…

They passed a lot of the remaining time in silence, potential conversations stuttering and dying in the face of stiff jaws and cracking voices. Trip began thinking about how they’d be found in the Pod. Would they open the top hatch or the side door? They would run scans to confirm life signs before they pull it in so they wouldn’t know that the two corpses were propped up at the back of the Pod. He imagined the shocked and saddened faces. Jon would…Oh God, Jon!

Trip had done everything he could have done. There wasn’t anything else left to do, except… He considered the idea and then discarded it. Then a few minutes later, pain wracking his entire body, he picked it up again. His duty was to his subordinate. He had to ensure Lieutenant Reed’s – Malcolm’s – survival. He didn’t have to die like this. Shivering and gasping, without any action he could take, his mind went over and over the idea. He’d already tried distracting his mind with equations and engine schematics. Now he was too tired to think of anything else, all he had in his head was this idea. This escape. Hopelessness, like he’d never felt before, swept through him. Worse than feeling Jon pull away from him. Worse than hearing that the Warp 2 project had been put on hold indefinitely. Worse than watching a ship full of people explode.

Then they had 10 hours and Trip couldn’t stand it. He’d failed Jon several times already, he couldn’t stand the thought of the Captain opening up the pod and finding both of them dead. Not when Trip could have done something. So he took his opening… Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it, Lieutenant By-The-Book mutinied and kept Trip alive through threats and shouting alone. Realising that he was only going to get stunned for his trouble, Trip dropped back down belligerently. Malcolm’s impassioned words ringing in his head. He didn’t even know how to feel; the idea that this incredible man would risk his own life to save Trip’s… He couldn’t process it. He was too cold. So damn cold...

“And put your blanket back on for fuck’s sake!” Blinking, mind having started to drift, Trip glanced at Malcolm. It was too much to acknowledge that this man had just saved his life so he latched on to the swear word.

“You swore!” Snorting, the effect ruined by constant shivering, Malcolm replied sardonically.

“It’s been known to happen. I figure you’ll excuse me on this occasion. Sir, your blanket!” Trip grunted as he twisted, fumbling with the cloth which kept on slipping through his deadened fingers. After a few frustrating minutes, he succeeded in pulling it over himself and contorted painfully to tuck it haphazardly around his shoulders. Malcolm, who’d been watching the whole performance, huffed a thin laugh. Trip cut him an irritated look but didn’t have the energy for anything else. Malcolm broke the quiet.

“Sato or Cutler?” Then, seemingly remembering their earlier conversation, added: “or Travis?” Glad for the distraction, Trip snorted.

“Robbing the cradle much?” Reed affected incredulity.

“Speak for yourself, we’re not _that_ old!” Trip didn’t mention that he was actually a few years younger than Malcolm, instead asking curiously.

“Who’d you choose?”

“I asked first!” Trip sighed and then coughed.

“Uh, if I had to choose-”

“Which you do.”

“Cutler I guess. You?”

“Huh, not Hoshi? I thought you two were close.” Trip shuddered.

“Yeah, close as in she’s like a sister.” Malcolm hummed and then asked.

“Older or younger?” Understanding his meaning, Trip said.

“I got two: one older, one younger. Melanie’s definitely the ‘mother’ of us kids, especially now she’s got her own, and Lizzie is your typical ‘younger sister’; always running around screaming and crying.”

“Hopefully not anymore.” It hurt to smile, but Trip managed it.

“Not as much. You got a sister, right? What’s she like?” Malcolm’s lips pulled awkwardly into a kind of smile.

“Maddie is younger than me. She comes across as sweet and retiring but she played dirty whenever we fought.” Trip chuckled before groaning, clutching at his blanket. There was a beat and then Malcolm asked in a tone wavering between shy and sleazy.

“Always wanted to ask…The Xyrillian…how was she?” Trip, blindsided by the subject, froze, stomach beginning to turn: the alcohol sloshing around and burning. Breathing hurt anyway, but his increased breaths just made it more painful. He knew absently that he was taking too long to answer, but he had no idea what to say. He could feel Malcolm’s curious gaze on him and considered trying a coy ‘a gentleman never kisses and tells’ approach, but in the end he was too tired to pretend. Instead he said numbly.

“It’d take a Hell of a lot more booze afore I tell you that story.” Malcolm obviously hadn’t been expecting that answer, especially not in a weird detached tone. He blinked.

“More than a bottle of Bourbon?” Trip managed to jerk his head, not really knowing in what direction. Still confused, Malcolm quipped and mimed. “I’ll put an order in, waiter!”

“Malcolm…It’s not…” He gulped. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t recommend it.” There was a long pause.

“Sorry.” He meant it too. “I guess I didn’t think…” Although Trip’s limbs were stiff and half hidden under his blanket, he still managed a vague arm wave.

“Jus’ forget it.” He coughed and then huffed bitterly. “Add it to the list.” Visibly rooting around for a different subject, Malcolm opened his mouth a few times before closing it again, defeated. Trip helped him out.

 “You never said who’d you choose: Hoshi or Liz?” He turned slightly, to meet his friend’s eyes. “Or Travis?” Malcolm met his gaze, a tight smirk on his white lips.

“T’Pol.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Trip huffed. “You like her so much you never gave me the option?”

“Would you have chosen her?”

“Like Hell!” Malcolm laughed knowingly, making Trip suspicious even through his exhaustion. “What’s so great about her?”

“You’ve really never looked at her, not once? Come on! Her bum alone…” Malcolm _was_ crazier than he thought. He hefted the bottle in a toast.

“To Sub Commander T’Pol.” He drank and then passed it to his friend. Malcolm drank and then pouted, tipping it over.

“S’all gone!” He sounded like a disappointed toddler, pouting, and for a moment Trip could easily imagine a sippy cup in Malcolm’s hands. Returning to his real age, his friend went on. “Do you think that we could argue that we started drinking the Bourbon whilst off-duty? That wouldn’t look as bad on our records, would it?” Trip grunted, unable to care. They didn’t say anything else for a while. The air was getting thinner, or his lungs were too frozen to breathe properly. He was absurdly grateful that he wasn’t alone, even as he despaired at the thought of dying together in this frozen Hell, the terrible thought that his last act as Second Officer was to fail to save a subordinate. To save a friend. Feeling himself slip away, Trip forced out a small plaintive whisper.

“I hope we live.” The last thing he heard before the black took him was a slurred whisper back.

“That’d be nice.”

…

When Trip woke in Sickbay, it took him a while to work out what was going on. The first thing he registered was that he could feel all of his fingers and toes. He waggled them, and winced at the light shining brightly even through his eyelids. After a while, he could open them again and realised where he was. Staring up at the whiteness, he felt numb, like he was in a kind of dream. Two figures came into view and for a split second, Trip thought that he was in some kind of after-life Sickbay. Then he remembered that they were alive. He must be alive too then. They said some things about an alien ship and black holes, but he was having a hard time understanding them. Vaguely, he got that Phlox and the Cap’n were concerned at his slow reaction time. Malcolm hadn’t seemed ‘spaced out’ they told each other. Where was Malcolm? His question must have shown on his face as the Captain smiled.

“He’s been given the all clear.” Exchanging an amused look with Phlox, he added wryly. “He _should_ be resting up in his quarters.”

They decided that he just needed a few days off to recover and sent him to bed. He lay down and suddenly felt cold. It was a curious feeling. He wasn’t frightened by it, more intellectually curious. His breath wasn’t visible, there wasn’t any frost in the room or on him and yet he was trembling. Curling up on his side, his joints felt stiff and his lungs felt cold. His door chimed and grunting, he forced himself up. It was Ensign Desai and Crewman Malik. They’d come to see him to see how he was and thank him for helping to arrange the Diwali celebration. With everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten. Hell, he hadn’t been thinking beyond the few hours they’d had to live. Blinking, he realised that they’d obviously seen that it was bad time and before he could think of an appropriate response, they’d made their excuses and backed out the door. He finally managed a belated ‘goodbye’ and found himself standing stupidly in the middle of his room. Then, he sat on his bed, head in his hands.

They’d almost died. He and Malcolm had been freezing to death. Suffocating too. The air had all but vanished before Trip had passed out. Was it…was it happening again? He breathed in as deeply as he could, fingers digging into his hair, pulling hard. The pain grounded him and he held on to it as long as he could. Then, unclenching, his hands moved to cover his face. Without thinking, he shot up and commed Captain Archer. He immediately regretted it and when the Captain answered he back tracked awkwardly.

“I…sorry sir, it’s nothing.” He closed the channel hurriedly before Archer could respond and rolled into a little ball on his bed. Squeezing his eyes tight, he recited as many digits of pi as he could remember. His door chimed and he winced even as he didn’t have the energy to answer it. Continuing to count, he almost didn’t hear his door swish open. Someone called his name. A warm, familiar hand found his shoulder, shaking him gently. Jon was safe and alive and… here. Trip sobbed and was quickly wrapped up in that strong, soothing embrace. Jon’s smell filled his nose and his warmth was all around him.

“Easy, easy. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” As if he was being defrosted, he began stammering.

“Y-you…you were dead.”

“I’m wasn’t, I promise. We’re all safe and sound, you and me and _Enterprise_.” Irrationally, Trip burst out.

“And Malcolm?!” If Jon was confused by the question, he didn’t show it. He answered immediately, with complete confidence.

“Even Malcolm. Everyone’s okay. I promise, we’re all fine. Shh, it’s alright now.” Strong and soothing, he held Trip until the tears dried up and he could talk again.

“Sorry…” Rubbing his back, Jon shook his head.

“No. Don’t apologise. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been.” Shadows appeared in his eyes as he murmured. “It took ten years off _my_ life just realising that the shuttlepod’s engine had exploded and we couldn’t hail you.” He shivered then, hugging Trip closer to him. Knowing what that felt like, Trip could sympathise. There wasn’t anything he could say to make it better though. In the end, he whispered.

“I’m cold.” Jon’s hand started stroking his hair softly and without meaning to, Trip fell asleep.

…

The next day was the scheduled Diwali celebration. As per the arrangements Trip had overseen before the fateful mission, the Mess Hall had been decorated with banners and Diwali lights. In deference to the no open flame rule, they’d opted for tiny LED lights in the shallow containers; the ceiling lights were dimmed to let the candle light shine. Chef was serving samosas, barfi, laddu and other traditional dishes. The gathered crowd was calm and quiet. Trip thought vaguely that he should figure out why, but the fog which had settled in his head since waking fully clothed under his covers, no doubt the Captain’s handiwork, made complex thinking difficult. Another question that sprang into his head: whether either of them would ever mention him crying himself to sleep on Jon's shoulder. Sometimes it felt like their relationship had become a series of intense emotional moments, with everyday friendliness and banter keeping those moments loosely tethered together. Dully, he put that idea aside for later and picked up a samosa, considering it.

Though his team had all visited him in his quarters or made a point to talk to him when he’d ventured out, he hadn’t been back on duty yet, and they all stayed closer to him than they usually would. After a while, Ensign Desai had made a small speech, thanking everyone, explaining a little about the origins of the celebration and reciting a prayer which the universal translator interpreted as:

“From untruth lead us to Truth.

From darkness lead us to Light.

From death lead us to Immortality.

Om Peace, Peace, Peace.”

Staring into the lights, a kind of calm came over Trip. The tiny lights shining through the half-darkness of the room were so small but there were enough of them to see by. From their light, he could see Hoshi, Cutler and Travis talking quietly in one corner. By the buffet table, a group of medical team members were listening to Ensign Desai talking more about the traditions on the other days of the festival. The Captain was making the rounds, having already checked in with Trip, slapping him lightly on the back as he’d gone past. All around him were the people he’d thought had died. Now they were resurrected, celebrating victory of light over darkness and good over evil. It was apt, as a certain Englishman might say. He spotted Malcolm across the room and they shared a look. So much had been shared between them that couldn’t be put into words; nothing had changed but everything had also changed.

They’d almost died.

But they hadn’t.

By the light of the Diwali candles, he saw Malcolm smile and he returned it gratefully.

The fog was beginning to lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Concerning the ‘getting naked to keep warm’ thing, my brief, non-thorough internet researching has turned up that whilst an effective treatment for mild hypothermia, sharing body heat via skin-skin contact sans clothes isn’t beneficial as a prevention method. So in this fic, Starfleet did not teach crewmembers to strip when the temperature dropped, only if one person was hypothermic and another person was not and thus able to help.  
> Also, I realised that in the episode, we find out a lot about Malcolm but hardly anything about Trip (at least explicitly, you can infer lots by how he acts and reacts to Mal) so I threw some stuff in there.  
> Also also, if you haven’t seen the deleted scene where Trip tells the story of how he tried to prank Jon whilst diving, I recommend you do so. I reference it here and in the previous story, but just watch the clip anyway :)


	7. Good Will to All Vulcans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fusion, Rogue Planet and Acquisition

A few days after he’d been allowed back on duty, they came across a ship with a fascinating crew. Vulcans without logic. It was disturbing how human-like they came across. Was ‘logic’ and strict emotional control all that was separating the two races? Surely it must be more than that. In any case, they were a big improvement on Soval, Vanik and Sopek. Trip could hardly believe it when the Captain reported that they’d actually tried and enjoyed Chef’s Chicken Marsala.

Though hearing all the wacky notions Kov had about humans was odd to say the least. Trip had hardly considered that humans might be as mysterious to Vulcans as vice versa. They were the ‘superior’ species who’d come down from the heavens to offer their guidance, shouldn’t they know everything? Though he supposed Humanity wasn’t on the curriculum on Vulcan. If you were an average person on Vulcan or on a thirty-year old Vulcan ship, why would you be educated on a random species your government was helping? Still, eating six times a day, really? He was glad that he could set the record straight on a few things.

For the first time, he found himself thinking about Vulcan itself. His experience with Vulcans were delegates and scientists but surely there were more professions than that on Vulcan. They had to have craftsmen, cooks, drivers and pilots, animal trainers…did they have zoos on Vulcan? He asked Kos as much as he could, drinking it all in. His view of them had already been challenged by T’Pol and now he was taking another step back and considering that not all Vulcans were like the smarmy, condescending types that had talked down to him and the team. Kos was a Vulcan, and he was…nice. He had some problems with his father and Trip’s mind boggled that he’d met another Vulcan rebelling against the Elders. The whole experience was definitely an eye-opener.

He tells Kov that he usually gets 6 hours of sleep. Normally that was true, apart from the run up to launching _Enterprise,_ that had been his average on Earth. Not anymore it seemed. Trip was worried. Whilst he’d never believed that space exploration would be without risks and dangers, the amount of trouble they’d found themselves in lately was seeming like too much to handle. Especially for the Captain. The man had always been a serial overachiever but did he have to acquire not one but two enemies? Of course none of it had been his fault, no matter what Vulcans might say. But now they’d have to look out for attacks by Suliban and Klingons. Not to mention his own personal highlights: getting high and murderous on alien pollen; being impregnated against his will, held hostage by Andorians – twice! – and to top it off, almost freezing/suffocating to death. That lovely experience had only happened less than a week ago. So nowadays, Trip was averaging 3-4 hours a night. So far he’d managed to get by on coffee and sheer stubbornness but that could only get him so far. It was getting to the point that he was considering going to Phlox, seeing if any of his creepy crawlies could put him down and keep his brain from torturing him whilst he was under.

Though after the Vulcans left, _Enterprise_ thankfully got a well-needed respite. A week of uninterrupted sleep and quiet, repetitive tasks in Engineering and Trip felt almost as good as new. The aftereffects of the ordeal in Shuttlepod were still lingering but manageable. So he started picking up some old projects he’d left on the backburner and actively evaluating his team to see if any of their weaknesses could be improved.

There was something still bothering him though: both the Captain and T’Pol had been acting a little oddly since the Vulcans had left. Once Trip had recovered from his latest bout with insomnia, he’d noticed that T’Pol had been stiffer than usual, which was saying something. She’d also appeared a little shaky when she’d returned to duty after a sudden shift change immediately after the Vulcans left. The Captain had brushed off his curiosity and he couldn’t think of a serious reason to dig any deeper. He’d almost asked if she was alright, before remembering that the question was as pointless as it was directed to a certain Armoury Officer. Maybe he could just keep an eye on her. Or maybe it was nothing. Yeah, probably nothing.

…

Suddenly, it was Thanksgiving. Although originally an American holiday, the idea of giving thanks was universal and so not many opted out of celebrating. At this point, Chef and the Logistics team were so in-sync that they had already discussed a feasible menu and decorations for the Mess Hall before Trip had gotten round to asking them. Happy to leave them to it, Trip related the plan of a traditional turkey dinner and modest decorations to the Captain and hid a smile as the Captain commed down to double check that cranberry sauce would be on the menu.

What was Trip thankful for? Simple: _Enterprise_. The ship with her engines, the crew with their hunger to explore and warmth towards each other, the dream of exploring the galaxy. Near everything that made Trip happy was on this ship and he recognised how rare that was. It still made him anxious to consider all the ways it could be ruined, but just for that day he put all of that out of his mind. Looking around the Mess Hall as he made his way to the Captain’s Mess, he soaked up the jovial atmosphere and smiled to himself.

The Captain invited as many senior staff as he could to the Captain’s Mess, which, as space was a premium, turned out to be 5. The rest would be guests at Christmas dinner. So sitting down at the Thanksgiving table were: the Captain, T’Pol, Trip, Malcolm, Doctor Phlox and the Quartermaster, Lieutenant Parrett. Trip rubbed his hands in delight and happily answered Phlox’s questions on the food with the help of Parrett and the Captain. Trip was even more delighted to see Malcolm and T’Pol grimacing out of the corner of his eye. Well, T’Pol’s version of grimacing. It was strange how alike the pair were sometimes: stoic, sticklers for regulations, introverted but also highly intelligent, graceful and in control of themselves. There was something sexy about a person who had total command of their body and mind. He thought back to Malcolm’s confession in their icy almost-tomb and wondered just how deep those feelings ran. Surely it couldn’t be more than a crush or a strong attraction. You can’t fall in love with someone without a personality after all, he thought, deliberately ignoring his own realisation of T’Pol’s rebellious – for a Vulcan – ways.

Malcolm was sitting with T’Pol on his right, Trip on his other side, and for the first course, Trip tried to surreptitiously keep an eye on them. Always uncomfortable with groups larger than three or four, the pair of them seemed to be mostly focusing on their food, not offering anything to the conversation and only speaking when asked a direct question. As Phlox and Parrett discussed the difficult history behind the holiday, the Captain caught Trip’s eye and gave a subtle nod to the other end of the table. He’d obviously noticed their reticence as well. Clearing his throat and raising his voice slightly, Archer asked.

“So, T’Pol, what are Vulcans usually thankful for?” Trip couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Aw come on, Cap’n! Vulcans don’t give thanks for anything.” T’Pol looked at him and asked serenely.

“What makes you believe that?”

“Well, I’ve never heard any of you say it!” Trip exclaimed, admitting in his head ‘except for Kos’. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Malcolm was actively paying attention to the exchange.

“Perhaps you have never given any Vulcan cause to express gratitude.” Trip’s jaw tightened at the dig but then he heard a curious sound beside him. Malcolm was trying and failing to stifle a laugh. That knocked all his indignation right out of him and as Jon laughed, “she’s got you there, Trip!” he found himself smiling too. Malcolm coughed, smoothing out his expression and having another sip of wine. His glass was almost empty and Trip thought that perhaps his reticent friend was a light-weight. The Bourbon had been pretty strong so he couldn’t tell from that incident alone… Deciding to test this theory, he insisted on topping everyone up, even filling T’Pol’s water and Phlox’s Denobulan tipple. Jon sent him a confused look but Trip ignored him, instead asking Phlox something about similar celebrations on his planet to create a suitable distraction. As the meal progressed, Trip kept on making toasts whenever he could: to the mission, the crew, the engines. Jon and T’Pol began to narrow their eyes at him as he suggested sillier and sillier toasts, but Parrett turned out to be a giggly drunk and she almost busted a gut as Malcom joined in, suggesting a toast to the Chef’s muffins.

At this point, Captain Responsibility put his foot down and said that there was no more wine. Liar, Trip had signed off on the approved booze for the voyage, he knew roughly how much they had left and could spare for special occasions like this. Still, he wasn’t drunk or disgruntled enough to challenge Jon in front of the others. By this time, they were at desserts and everyone but the Captain and T’Pol were tipsy-bordering-on-drunk, even Phlox. Trip had tried some of the pink juice earlier and whilst pleasant, it hadn’t tasted very strong, but he wasn’t complaining about the solidarity in merriment.

T’Pol excused herself as soon as the desserts were cleared but the others hung on to talk more. Trip’s triumph of intoxicating the Armoury Officer began to sour under the stern gaze of his CO. Vaguely worried but filing it away for later, Trip started a conversation about different wedding costumes and configurations on Earth and how they differed from Denobulan traditions. Malcolm mentioned overseeing security of a wedding on Alpha Centuri and how the couple’s families had created a sort of obstacle course for them to complete in order to reach the ceremony building in an apparent tradition. Having half-forgotten Malcolm’s wealth of security experience pre- _Enterprise,_ since the Brit was so resistant to any personal questions, Trip silently thanked the doctor for asking for more detail. Now requiring effort to enunciate clearly, Malcolm complied, giving a brief outline of what he’d done on the tour. He focused on the security concerns but it was still nice to hear him talking about his history.

Trip got distracted by Malcolm mentioning the sectioned armour plating on the _Trident,_ a ship he’d served on, which was superior to _Enterprise’s_ because they could work independently from each other. Trip protested this ‘advantage’ wasn’t worth the inferior strength to _Enterprise’s_ and they ended up having a spirited debate as Parrett began to fall asleep, chin on hand, and Phlox began staring at the ceiling for no discernible reason. Trip didn’t dare look Jon’s way, feeling the disapproval prickling on his skin. At one point, Malcolm called him an ‘irrepressible yank’ and Trip, riled, drew breath to shoot something back before noticing Malcolm’s eyes twinkling. So he laughed instead, well, more like giggled, waggling his finger and suddenly the Captain stood up.

“This has been a nice evening, but I’m afraid I’m beat.” Belatedly, the others staggered to their feet, Trip’s smile still sticking to his face. Nodding, Archer left quickly and Phlox toddled off. Trip and Malcolm looked at each other and roused Parrett, helping her out of the door. They found Ensign Islam in the Mess and she agreed to make sure her CO would get back to her quarters alright.

Starting to flag, Trip was glad to stumble into the turbolift, Malcolm slumping against the wall opposite and groaning.

“Oh God, the Captain’s lost all respect for me now. I’ve ruined my standing!” Frowning, Trip asked.

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” Malcolm put a hand over his face and mumbled miserably.

“He was glaring at me.” Trip sighed and collapsed against his side of the lift, knees wobbly as he slurred.

“’Twas me. He’ssangry at me.” Malcolm peeped out from behind his hand.

“Why?” The lift reached their deck and they helped each other out. Malcolm seemed a little more alert, sneaking quick glances at Trip as they made their way down the corridor. It wasn’t that late so people were still milling around and Trip was not about to go shouting his private business. Malcolm invited him to his quarters and suspecting it was a bad idea but uncaring, Trip agreed. Once inside, Malcolm got them both water, settling down on the bed, backs against the bulkhead. Trip suddenly realised that this was how they’d been sitting when they’d had their heart to heart on that disastrous mission. Had his friend consciously sheparded them into that position? That would be like the superior tactician. He’d probably worked out Trip’s ploy to-

“Is it to do with your evil plot to get me drunk in front of my Commanding Officer?” Relieved by the amused tone in the question, Trip grinned sheepishly.

“N’aw, I wouldn’t say ‘evil’ per se. More…mischievous.” Malcolm barked a laugh and poked Trip’s side.

“Evil! Eeeevil!” Delighted at the playfulness and ticklish, Trip squirmed and giggled, trying to push the insistent hands away, protesting.

“Don’t count if you knew! You were the one messing with me!” Giving one last poke, the Englishman huffed and crossed his arms.

“So I exaggerated a little, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known the Captain would look at me like that.” Sobering, Trip sighed again.

“I told ya, he’s pissed at me. I dunno what for.” At Malcolm’s incredulous look, he insisted. “I don’t!”

“If you don’t know the reason, how could you know who he’s mad at?”

“What could he possibly be angry at you for? An don’t say getting a little sauced. He mighta been surprised, but he okayed the wine in the firs’ place!”

“But he wasn’t impressed with you toasting every five minutes.”

“You did it too!”

“Just to test my hypothesis.”

“Oh? Which is?”

“The Captain seems to be jealous of you and me.” Genuinely lost, Trip blurted.

“Huh?” Malcolm explained patiently.

“Think about it. He only said ‘enough’ after I joined in and he left right after I made you laugh like a school child.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. “He obviously has feelings for you.” Trip stared, speechless. Malcolm just took another drink of water.

“That’s impossible.” Trip finally managed.

“The signs are there.”

“Come on! He’s way more likely to have feelings for you than me!” Malcolm cocked his head and Trip could almost see the calculations behind those sharp eyes. Damn. It was like he was inside Trip’s head. Giving up on his dignity, Trip shot up, swaying ever so slightly with the motion. “Well, I’m gonna hit the hay.” Malcolm got up too.

“Trip.” Suddenly anxious, Trip half-turned. “Happy Thanksgiving.” The new understanding between them now clear, he nodded and returned the sentiment before making his exit.

As he lay in bed a little while later, he found himself comparing both of his friends. Time was, he could tell Jon things – not his darkest of secrets but how he felt in general. They had shared their frustrations and dreams, occasionally romantic problems (Jon) or family drama (Trip). Thinking about it, Trip had always been holding part of himself back. Jon was his friend but also his superior officer, and more than that, he was the best man that Trip knew. How could Trip confess his most shameful thoughts or memories with someone as strong and true as Jonathan Archer?

Whereas Malcolm, though no less stalwart and moral, had inadvertently shown his own vulnerabilities. They said that people are their most true selves when they think they’re going to die and wasn’t that a disturbing thought: Malcolm met his Fate with remorse but dignity, acceptance. Trip had denied it for as long as possible before collapsing in on himself and trying to end his suffering early, leaving Malcolm alone. What did that say about him?

The fact was, Malcolm was still a better man than him, but having already shared such a traumatic and revealing ordeal, Trip felt like he could share some of his demons with him. He thought that Malcolm might understand.

He’d known that his relationship with the Captain had already changed since before _Enterprise_ had launched. That didn’t stop him from mourning what they’d had, what he knew they’d never get back. This tentative connection to Malcolm made that fact easier to bear.

…

Trip was beyond proud and happy for Jon that he was to be honoured by having his picture in the halls at Starfleet Command. It would be exactly as Travis said: an inspiration to new recruits and also a middle finger to Jon’s doubters, Vulcan and human alike. Some gentle ribbing of the whole thing in front of the Bridge Crew was important for morale. Trip told himself that if the Captain hadn’t wanted this kind of thing, he shouldn’t have struck up such a familial relationship with the crew. Also, he still owed him for the time Jon had teased him above Coridan. Though after Malcolm spotted the rogue planet and the Captain’s tone had become a warning, Trip dropped it.

One of the photos he had would have to do, from today and…other times. Little did Jon know that Trip carried his camera around most days he thought would be quiet and stealthily took snaps of people on duty. The Bridge Crew was aware of this habit, having caught him numerous times. Though as his usual target was the Captain, they all agreed to keep shtum, which he appreciated. It helped that he had never dared try and capture Reed, who he didn’t doubt would physically confiscate the offending item if he thought he was being photographed. For some reason he was camera shy, only acquiescing to group photos when given a direct order. One day Trip hoped to remedy that attitude. Apart from T’Pol, and her coolly polite request to cease and desist, the rest of the crew didn’t mind being caught in candid shots. Some of them even asked for copies to send back home. Anyway, he wondered what Jon’s reaction would be if he saw the painting and realised he didn’t remember posing in that particular position. Ah well, as long as it was dignified, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Trip was a little jealous that the Captain and the others got to investigate the planet and then have a meal with a new humanoid species, feeling a little left out skulking around on the Bridge. He hated being the most senior office on the Bridge. Not only was the burden of command so much heavier there, but also it could be so damn boring. He’d neglected to bring a PADD with him when he’d gone up to take the Captain’s photo hours before and was stuck staring into space most of the time.

So he was more than happy to agree to do a little camping – Travis could use the time in the Captain’s chair – despite Malcolm and Hoshi teasing him about those bore worm-things. After Malcolm had chuckled, Trip had decided that they must have just been joking…

Even more, he was glad to be spending time with Malcolm as well. They hadn’t talked privately since Thanksgiving two weeks before. Trip didn’t feel like either one of them was avoiding the other per se, but they certainly hadn’t made another effort to talk about their feelings. Trip had been using his usual coping method of deliberately not thinking about things – especially Malcolm’s crazy theory about Jon’s feelings for Trip – and he suspected Malcolm had a similar philosophy.

Jon had reached out once since then, suggesting a game of nine-ball. He hadn’t mentioned the dinner and Trip hadn’t either. Instead, Jon had asked how he’d been feeling since the incident on the Shuttlepod. Whilst glad that his friend was showing an interest, Trip was mostly reluctant to talk about it. He’d said he was fine and would be more fine given more time. Jon had either been satisfied with Trip’s nonchalant response or had given up trying to get him to open up. Most of the time, Trip really was fine. He hadn’t had any more cold spells and the nightmares were par for the course so now they mostly frustrated rather than frightened him. Apart from that…

Occasionally, he’d get anxious at random times. There wouldn’t be a discernible trigger and he was often unaware of it until suddenly he was standing in his room trying to decide between wearing a vest or a T-shirt under his uniform, or blinking at the drinks dispenser at 3am, weighing up if he should push for another few hours of work or just get some milk and go to bed. And he still didn’t like to be cold. At night, he would wear more layers than usual, sometimes another blanket. If part of him became exposed during the night, he’d wake just enough to notice and cover up again. He also avoided visiting the computer banks directly. Given the sheer amount of wires and circuits, they had to keep the area as cool as possible and never a fan before, it made Trip nervous just thinking about going in there. Luckily, he trusted Anello and Dillard enough to make any necessary repairs or reports themselves. He wondered if Malcolm was suffering in the same way though if he was, Trip didn’t feel confident in his ability to get Malcolm to admit it.

There was still so much of the man which remained a mystery. Trip didn’t understand Malcolm’s request to go hunting with the Eska. Why was running around in the dark after wild animals fun? Now Trip had fished with his father and uncles but that was for food and company. Lazy afternoons in the baking sun, eating like barbeque kings, talking about everything and nothing, giving up and going for a swim were some of his happiest memories. But hiking in the pitch black for animals that might attack you? He didn’t get it. Malcolm’s explanation had shed some light: mostly his interest in the superior stealth technology. But how much could simply observing it in use help with reverse-engineering it? Better Malcolm than him.

The whole planet was bizarre, first the pitch blackness of it – not even moonlight through the trees – then ghosts in the night. Good thing Travis wasn’t with them. Despite his doubts about the likelihood of Jon literally seeing a half-naked woman prancing around in the forest, the incredulous and teasing tones of the Eska made him stand up for his Captain. No one talked to his Captain liked that in his hearing and got away with it. Even if Jon _had_ been mistaken, it wasn’t because he was excitable or crazy, something had to be happening to him. Of that Trip was sure. Even though they’d upgraded their initial scanning process, Trip commed up to _Enterprise_ to do another sweep just to check for psychotropic compounds in the air, double checking himself despite knowing that T’Pol would have done it too. Speaking to Jon in those caves wasn’t very productive though and Trip was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t offer any new theories or comfort.

Once they’d figured out exactly what was happening, and all had been suitably horrified, T’Pol had stepped up and continued to show her support for them – or was it just for the Captain? – by helping them come up with a viable plan. Trip was also glad that they could think of a solution, he had to admit that he might have been hard pressed to think of something so elegant if he’d been on his own. In any case, the aliens were safe and the hunters empty-handed; the best result possible.

 _Enterprise_ moved on.

…

Then, seemingly out of the blue, Phlox called him in to Sickbay.

“I know that this may be too much to ask, Commander.” He hesitated and Trip had images of being examined for some alien medical journal but Phlox shook his head and started again. “My colleague, Doctor Lucas, has a patient who was sexually assaulted.” Body flooding with ice, Trip replied warily.

“Sorry to hear that.” Phlox was obviously aware of his discomfort, but soldiered on.

“They’re having trouble coping with the after-effects: nightmares, feeling of guilt, self-blame but they are proving difficult to get through to. It wasn’t a straight-forward situation, there were a lot of…unusual factors. In fact, the case resembles yours in part.” Suddenly seeing the end-game, Trip tried to interrupt.

“Doc-”

“We think it would help if you tried reaching out.” Core hardening, Trip demanded to know.

“You told your friend about me?” The doctor held his hands up placatingly.

“I only mentioned that I knew someone who had suffered a similar trauma.” Trip turned away, hands on hips and controlling his breathing. He never liked thinking about the incident, let alone hear someone refer to it like it was a terrible accident or disfiguring injury or something. The doctor went on, tone very measured and careful. “I may have implied it was someone I’d met on Earth, there’s no way he would possibly suspect that I was referring to yourself.” Folding his arms, Trip spat out.

“’Cept I’m the only man to have ever gotten pregnant? He just might put two and two together!”

“Rest assured that I left out any specific details, just as Doctor Lucas only gave me the basic details concerning his patient. Commander, I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. I would not have even suggested this unless I thought it could really help her recovery.” He considered and then added quietly. “It might even help you as well.” Trip opened his mouth to claim that he was fine but at the doctor’s look he closed it again. He knew intellectually that what had happened _had_ been traumatic for him. He knew that suppressing traumatic memories never made them go away completely. He knew all that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to follow Phlox’s advice and talk to someone about it. Most of the time he was fine. He was fine. Phlox went on. “I was thinking that you could write something. Just a short letter, saying a little about how the incident affected you and how…you’re coping with it.” Trip winced at the unspoken ‘or not coping with it’. Arms falling to his sides, he sighed heavily. He owed the doctor for being there, for trying to help him. But…Weary, anxious and feeling like crap in general, he muttered.

“I’ll think about it.” Expression showing how unlikely Phlox considered it was that Trip would eventually agree, he merely nodded and let the engineer leave.

…

The sniggers started again. This time, Trip tolerated them a lot better as most of the female variety were accompanied by an assessing glance. He was still embarrassed and would like to know who exactly leaked the security camera footage of the incident, including seemingly all possible angles of his butt as he ran or bent over. Those little bastards had wreaked havoc on the ship, literally tossing almost all sections and forcing him to sneak around his own damn ship in his underwear. Yes, it was a ridiculous way to help save the ship but in the end, he had helped save the ship. Hell, the pip squeaks might have gotten away scot-free if it hadn’t been for him. So yeah, he let the crew laugh and laughed himself sometimes. Play acting with Jon had been fun and if he hadn’t been worried about the little aliens enslaving the female crewmembers, he probably would have enjoyed the whole adventure a lot more at the time. Hindsight made it all seem a bit surreal, like a Twilight Zone episode.

He could have done without the bruises though – that electric whip had been excruciating, but thankfully the pain it caused had been short-lived. He didn’t even bother mentioning it to Phlox when he’d dropped by to check all medical supplies were accounted for. There was just a dark bruise where it had struck him in the chest and it just felt a little sore, the skin red and itchy; he could deal with it. Trip was just glad Archer had the forethought to use their thieves as labour to unload everything back onto the ship. It would have been back-breaking work for them to do alone. He was also thankful that Archer himself hadn’t been banged up very much. At least in comparison to some of their other escapades. Even with the little guys’ help, it took a massive amount of time sorting everything out. But in the end, the ship was put back to rights and just in time for Christmas.

…

Christmas Day dawned sans snow or cold but with the same excitement in the air. Trip opened his eyes and bounded up, getting ready for the day with a childlike enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in a long time. Goodwill to all men and Vulcans; nothing was going to ruin this day for him. It was odd to be celebrating it without his family – though his mama had sent a vid. Seemingly the whole family was crammed into the shot of the living room, his parents right in front of the console, cousins and siblings and in-laws chatting and ribbing each other; kids climbing over each other and wiggling, and begging to be allowed to open their presents, now, please? Trip had gotten a little teary-eyed at the vid but gathered himself together and recorded his own short message in response. He wasn’t on shift that day but dropped by Engineering just to check up on things.

               Malcolm was working Christmas Day and had expressed a strong disinclination to attend the party. Trip had essentially annoyed him into going: whining and generally making a nuisance of himself, mostly in public so he had support from Hoshi and Travis. Whilst he’d volunteered to be on shift during the day, he clocked off at 6pm, plenty of time to catch the end of dinner. Trip would not accept any excuses. Though Trip wasn’t worried. Half a year ago, he might not have noticed the twinkle in those grey eyes as the Lieutenant had ‘reluctantly’ agreed to attend.

As promised, Hoshi, Travis, Crewman Thames (Head Steward), Ensign Porter (Head Nurse) and Lieutenant Hess joined the Captain for Christmas dinner. For the rest of the crew: traditional Christmas meals from around the world. The only re-sequenced thing on the menu being Christmas pudding, which Chef claimed was beneath him to make from scratch. The Galley team had even made fresh mince pies and mulled wine – albeit a very, very weak mixture. The atmosphere at lunch was very jolly. Projects and reports had been put on hold meaning that only a skeleton crew was monitoring systems from 08:00 Dec 25th to 08:00 Dec 26th.

A ship-wide Secret Santa had been ruled as unfeasible so each department was left to organise itself. Trip had spared a thought for the Science Department as T’Pol had expressed zero desire to participate in holiday celebrations, but apparently, most had opted out anyway. Cutler and a few of the others had joined in the Medical team’s pool. Trip wondered how the science personnel were coping with T’Pol’s leadership in general. Now that everyone had been given a chance to settle in, he was sure that they would have a different view from in the beginning. Wary of sticking his face where it wasn’t wanted, he’d subtly asked Novakovich – well, tried to anyway. The man had blinked, before answering cautiously.

“I don’t have any complaints. Why? Has someone said something?”

“No, slow down! I’m not implying anything, just want to check in. God knows, I find it difficult to work with her and she’s not even my boss.” The crewman frowned.

“Isn’t she technically-” Trip interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good talk, thanks.” Cutler hadn’t been much help either, still a little in awe of the Vulcan. When he’d asked Kelly if she’d ever heard of any problem with T’Pol or her management style, she’d smiled knowingly before replying: “Well, sometimes they complain that she expects too much of them but to be honest, I think most of them enjoy the challenge. Doesn’t seem like a problem.”

“Good.” Ignoring her raised eyebrow, he’d strode away, telling himself that was that.

Trip had drawn Anello in the Engineer’s Secret Santa and after begging Dillard for info, the shy smile becoming a little mischievous at Trip’s obvious cluelessness, had been told of Anello’s love for penguins. Anello blushed when he was presented with a personal PADD with an arctic design on the cover with plenty of feathery waiters looking cute. Looking around the room as Hess in a Santa hat passed out the presents, Trip felt his heart swell with joy and pride at his team. In less than a year they had achieved so much. He held his present – one of those ancient drinking bird desk toys – and smiled.

The Mess Hall was decorated with tinsel, red and green bunting and as much fake snow as they could get away with before it became a fire hazard. Some cheeky so-and-so had even gotten hold of some mistletoe and had hung it a few feet from the door to the Captain’s Mess. Ensign Ko and Crewwoman Connelly had already gotten caught beneath it and Travis had received an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek from Cutler as he’d been making his way to dinner with the Captain.

As dinner wound down, they put on some Christmas Carols and the atmosphere thickened with laughter and singing. Trying not to look like he was looking for someone in particular, Trip made the rounds, saying hi to his team and other people he knew well. He checked the time, frowning, before wandering over to Fuller and Ensign Marcel who were arguing about the best Christmas Carol. They asked Trip to be the deciding vote but he introduced a third option, beginning the debate again with a vengeance. Eventually, Marcel threw his hands up in surrender and left to get another drink.

Stepping back to let him pass, Trip bumped into someone. He turned and saw the Captain behind him. They both put their hands up innocently and chuckled a little. Mulled wine warm in his stomach, Trip felt his face threatening to flush as he could smell Jon through the heavy scent of cinnamon in the air. There was a sharp whistle from behind him. Seeing Jon look up in confusion, Trip also turned round and saw Kelly grinning. She was too far away to call out over the chatter, so merely pointed to above their heads. Following her finger, Trip’s insides froze as he saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging over them like a guillotine. He looked back at Jon and saw a similar expression of discomfort on his face. Trip opened his mouth to say something, not even knowing what, when Jon swooped down and kissed him. Eyes closing, his hand went to Jon’s arm instinctively and they stayed like that a moment. Trip held his breath, brain function stuttering to a stop as his awareness narrowed to the feeling of Jon’s lips on his. Then the lips were gone and Jon whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Trip.” He pulled back completely, patted Trip’s upper arm and said more loudly. “Who put on this drivel? Time for the classics!” He moved forward, Trip stepping back to let him pass but not turning to watch him walk into the crowd. Whilst some people smirked at him or raised their glasses in toasts, none of them seemed to have noticed anything off. He gulped, then looked down at his hands and coughed. Then he saw Malcolm approaching, looking right at him, expression tight, and Trip ducked behind a group leaving the snack table. He felt jittery and anxious, sure that everyone was looking at him. To his shame, he retreated and ended up in the Hyponics Bay as it was deserted; most of the monitoring was done by machines, so it was safe to leave unattended for short periods of time: like for a party. Sitting on a stool beside the pepper plants, he concentrated on breathing. The plant smells helped ground him, the fresh, leafy smell dispelling everything else. Whenever a stray memory or sense impression would appear, he'd just lean in to the leaves and breath in deeply. He stayed there for a long time before creeping off to bed. That night he dreamt of Jon and cinnamon.  


	8. Resurfacing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oasis, Detained & Vox Sola.

The next morning, there were a lot of tired faces all around. Whilst many had wisely not indulged, Trip heard that the party had gone until late, with members of gamma shift joining and reinvigorating it.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Hess had asked curiously, once her third coffee had kicked in. Having predicted this question, he’d already prepared his answer; he shrugged and said casually.

“Nowhere.” Intrigued, she followed him as she checked all the injector readings. Looking around, he lowered his voice. “Just somewhere a little more…exclusive.”

“Party of two?” He gave her a look.

“Now just who do you take me for?” As she remained unrepentant, his gaze hardened. The last thing he wanted was a rumour going around that he’d hooked up with someone. “It wasn’t that kind of party.” He forced a little condescending smirk onto his lips. “Play your cards right and you might be invited next time.” Still a little doubtful but mostly satisfied, Hess nodded and no one else bothered him about it.

He’d missed Malcolm at breakfast, only slightly deliberately, but when he saw him sitting with Hoshi at lunch – which was an interesting mix of left overs – he hesitated. Hoshi saw him and waved him over and sparing a glance at the Armoury Officer’s face for signs of hostility or curiosity, he cautiously sat down.

“Great party last night!” Trip agreed and let Hoshi talk about dinner with the Captain and the party gossip. All through this Malcolm merely listened and interjected every so often, not even looking in Trip’s direction. Trip pushed his lunch around his plate, on edge. Then Hoshi was making her excuses and leaving and Trip tensed, waiting for Malcolm to start. He’d obviously seen something. But he didn’t say anything. He gathered his things, nodded and left. Frowning, Trip followed suit and caught up with him.

“Wait up!” Malcolm slowed a little but didn’t stop walking. “You, uh, have fun last night?” Malcolm replied casually.

“The party had its moments.” Sometimes Malcolm could act coy if he was angling for something but Trip was too tired to play along.

“Okay, well, guess I’ll see you later.” Glancing around to check they were alone, Malcolm finally came to a stop, earnest as he said.

“I’m not going to bring it up.” He came closer, voice lowering, as Trip searched for a way to respond. “Unless…you want to talk about it?” Trip smiled tightly.

“No thanks, but uh, thanks for…you know.” Expression softening slightly, Malcolm wacked him lightly on the arm and drawled as he strolled away.

“Buck up, Looootenant!” Trip guffawed and stood for a second grinning like a loon. This Christmas _had_ been a good one.

There was a flurry of activity for the astronomy team the days between Christmas and New Years as they were passing an interesting stellar system. Other sections were mostly quiet and attention had turned to the New Year celebrations. There had been some outlandish ideas of an attempt at a ‘live’ link with Earth, having a competition for completing resolutions the fastest and so on. In the end, they settled on the standard a party in the Mess Hall, with champagne and a countdown to midnight.

Trip walked into the Captain’s Mess on New Year’s Eve morning at breakfast, to find the Captain explaining the tradition of kissing someone at Midnight. Archer quickly enlisted Trip’s help to convince T’Pol who was highly sceptical of _another_ human tradition of kissing so soon after the mistletoe-at-Christmas excuse. Still feeling a little weirded out by the kiss and Jon’s complete lack of recognition of the event afterwards, Trip had played along as much as he could. His gut bubbled uncomfortably as he considered the reason why his friend seemed so eager that T’Pol be informed of all Human celebrations. Of course it was nice of him to want T’Pol to be included. Perhaps he thought that she’d see they were civilised with their own ancient traditions.

Then, when Trip was watching Jon glancing at T’Pol from across the room at the party, another thought struck him. Was Jon going to contrive to be next to T’Pol when the ‘ball dropped’? Was that what this was about? An excuse to get close to her? He didn’t think that Jon would impose himself on her, especially considering how squeamish Vulcans were about being touched. But, maybe she would consider it an anthropological endeavour and allow it. Maybe they’d already…

“Not to your taste, Commander?” Starting a little, Trip turned to see Malcolm, drink in hand. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp, darting over Trip’s face. Trip looked down at the mostly-full champagne glass in his hand but was unsure that Malcolm had been referring to the drink. He felt simultaneously guilty and defensive. Although they’d had that acknowledgement of the ‘thing’, Trip was still jumpy about it. He hadn’t gotten the sense that anyone else had read his and Jon’s reactions correctly, most people had likely been suitably distracted. But then again, only one person knew about the friend’s complicated history. And that person was staring at him like he was an intriguing puzzle. Trip opened his mouth to reply when someone shouted something and then everyone began joining in.

“9, 8, 7…” Starting, as he’d lost track of time, Trip looked around and saw that the Captain had moved. He caught a glimpse of him next to a dark head of regimented hair among the crowd. Looking back to Malcolm, he realised with a jolt that Malcolm was blushing. Seeing that Trip had noticed, said Armoury Officer raised a threatening finger.

“Don’t you dare! I will end you!” Trip laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Your honour is safe with me.”

“3, 2, 1!” Around them, cheers erupted along with calls of ‘Happy New Year’. Trip raised his glass in Malcolm’s direction and his friend smiled, returning the gesture. They drank and then, in a flash, a silly and potentially dangerous idea popped into his head. Giving in to his impulse without a second thought, he grabbed Malcolm’s free hand and brought it to his lips. Stunned, Malcolm allowed the action, just staring. A few people looked their way, but in the general hubbub the gesture went largely unseen. Lady Luck must have been smiling on him as after a moment, Malcolm began to laugh.

“You’re barmy.” Whilst Trip took the meaning of the term to be derogatory, the fond tone began to melt his insides. He lowered Malcolm’s hand, still holding on and grinned helplessly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Snorting, Malcolm chortled.

“You don’t even know what ‘barmy’ means, do you?”

“Sure I do. It means ‘handsome devil’.” Shaking his head mock-sadly, Malcolm opened his mouth to response but was interrupted by Hess throwing her arms around Trip’s neck, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek and slurring.

“Happy New Year boss!” Trip barely noticed losing hold of Malcolm’s hand as the rest of his team rushed him, elbows and drinks and lips flying everywhere. Alarmed, he staggered and just held on under the enthusiastic group hug. When he was finally released, he couldn’t see Malcolm anywhere.

That year he only had three resolutions: try to find some common ground with T’Pol, crack Malcolm’s shell and get to Warp 6. He didn’t know which was the most unrealistic.

…

So his first resolution – to work on his problems with T’Pol – was tested only a few days into the New Year.

Liana reminded him of Lisa. She was sweet, innocent and her shy interest in him made him feel like a teenager again, back before he knew how dangerous sexual desire could be. It was also nice to meet a species not bent on robbing or killing them on sight (if you discounted the kidnapping of himself and T’Pol and Malcolm getting shot) and so he indulged himself a little. Nothing to disgrace Starfleet or his own honour, but she was lonely and curious and nervous smiles and a chaste kiss never hurt anyone. He told himself that T’Pol’s mention of Ah’len had no influence on his actions. He figured that the Vulcan had brought that incident up to prevent any attachments, but that had backfired as it had only reminded him of his lack of agency in that encounter. He triple-checked how Kantaraans mated so he was sure that a peck on the lips wouldn’t come back to bite him.

It hadn’t been easy, being forced to work at gun point with the threat of T’Pol being hurt had hard on the nerves. Then he and Leanna had ventured out to discover that Malcolm had been shot. The Armoury Officer was grunting in that way he had when he was working through pain, trying unsuccessfully to shrug off the Captain. Trip spared a glance, though Malcolm’s disgruntled routine did a lot to sooth his worries, before rounding on Ezral.

“Where’s T’Pol?” Defeated, the man had lead them to where she’d been locked up. As the door opened, Trip saw the Captain stepping forward so reigned in his own impulse to check on her and hung back. Liana was hovering in the background, Malcolm a little closer but not looking too hot. Trip turned his attention to his injured friend.

He was glad that Ezral decided to head for his home planet after all. It had had its moments, but the whole incident had a happy ending.

Except that his residual anger and resentment over the ‘Xyrillian Incident’ resurfaced. Knowing that T’Pol still viewed him as a sex-crazy monkey rankled him. All the progress he thought they’d made in their professional relationship had apparently been one-sided. So now he trusted her with all their lives but she still couldn’t trust him to keep it in his pants.

It also made him realise that he never had talked to Jon about it. So much had happened since then that he wasn’t sure if he even could broach the subject. The phantom weight of the embryo-sac came back at night and his frustration and feelings of helplessness returned.

So too did his resentment towards T’Pol, which made the thrill of fear he’d felt when Ezral had threatened T’Pol’s life confusing. Of course he didn’t want any _harm_ to come to her. Not just because she was a valuable crewmember but because he genuinely didn’t wish harm on anyone. Except perhaps that bastard Silik. However, what he’d felt had seemed stronger than general concern. Did she matter to him more than another crewmember he didn’t know very well? To be fair, he did know her a little and she had contributed in saving the ship multiple times – even if her motive was fulfilling her duty, it still counted.

Well, he’d always been kind of masochistic in his relationships; his preference in sexual partners was selfish assholes and he’d fallen for Jon, someone who was way too good for him. Perhaps he subconsciously enjoyed being belittled by her.

Great.

…

A few days after, seeing Phlox in the Mess Hall, he remembered the doctor’s request that he write to a sexual assault survivor. A fellow sexual assault survivor. He was still trying to stuff down the emotions dragged up by T’Pol but thinking about it, maybe that wasn’t what he should be doing. It had been a while since it had…happened, but considering how one little comment from T’Pol could affect him so much, perhaps it was time to stop lying to himself. Stop trying to ignore it. He went to Sickbay after his shift that day and just said.

“Promise me that no one else will read it.”

Sitting down at his console, trying to order his chaotic thoughts and push through the pain and urgent instinct to get up and distract himself, was one of the hardest things Trip had ever had to do. But he needed to do this. He considered dictating, but then thought that written words might create a bit of distance. Hearing his voice cracking as he talked about it would not be helpful. He could pretend that he was writing a unique type of report.

Once he’d started, it was like he’d been possessed. Someone else had taken control and the words came flooding out. Hardly registering what he was writing, his fingers flew across the keyboard until it suddenly stopped. He re-read it when he was done and had to delete some of the more recognisable personal details, re-ordering some of it to make more cohesive sense. He was half-surprised when he realised that he’d mentioned _Daedalus_. He didn’t even remember writing about it. He stared at it for a moment. Resolutely, he selected the entire passage and deleted it.

Once it was half-way decent, he saved a copy and delivered it to Phlox immediately. If he waited too long, he’d begin to overthink it and never hand it over.

 

_Dear Patient X,_

_First off, I’m real sorry to hear about what happened to you. On our doctors’ honour I don’t know any details but I know what it’s like to have someone use you for their own ends. To push you down and take what they want from you. To tell you it’s your fault and make you believe them. I don’t know what happened, but I know it’s not on you._

_I also know what it’s like to try and pretend that it never happened._

_I’ve had people pressure me or trick me into sex a few times. People I’ve trusted, people I’ve been trying to help. And almost everyone who ever found out just laughed or ignored it. Only one person ever stood up for me. He told me not to trust so easily, to harden my heart. I must not have learned, because it keeps happening._

_For the most part, I try to forget. But I can’t. I’ve tried for years and I just can’t. I get anxious at awkward times and I avoid sexual situations in general. One passing comment from a colleague can drag all the pain and fear and rage back up and I feel like it only happened yesterday. I have a job that I love and amazing family and friends that I wouldn’t trade for the world. But at the same time, I haven’t ever considered telling them about what happened. I haven’t felt completely fine in a long time and I know that something inside me is broken._

_I don’t think it can be fixed._

_The truth is that for a while now, I thought that I deserved the bad things that happened to me. If someone hurt me, it must have been because of something I’d done. I made a mistake or did something wrong and the universe was balancing things out. I know that kind of thinking isn’t right and I’m trying to avoid those black holes. But after so long, I suspect that I won’t ever be able to shake it completely._

_I can’t advise you to talk about it to your doctor or anyone else, as that would make me a hypocrite. Even as I’m writing this, I know that I won’t actually sit down and try and process what happened to me as I probably should – beyond this letter I mean. I’ll go back to my usual method of working until I drop, pretending I’m okay and ignoring any feelings that show that I’m obviously not, until I can function again. Guess I’m stubborn like that. No one ever accused me of being logical after all._

_But I hope that you do get help. I hope you don’t blame yourself. I hope you can get to a point where you feel like yourself again. I don’t know anything about you, but I know that someone hurt you and that it wasn’t your fault._

_Yours sincerely,_

_A friend._

 

That night, he dreamed about telling Jon all he’d written about in that letter. They were sitting in the restaurant by the sea front, where Trip had realised that he’d fallen in love. At first, Jon’s eyes had been soft and understanding; he’d even reached out at one point, holding Trip’s hand. But as Trip went on, the words spilling out and leaving only relief in his heart, his friend’s expression had begun to change. Disgusted, Jon had turned away, walking down an endless corridor as Trip had cried out after him. Someone grabbed him from behind, a harsh whisper. _You love it, Lieutenant._ Robinson’s fingers wrapped over his throat and held him tight as he squirmed. Vision tunnelling, he couldn’t see Jon anymore, heart splintering as the hand started to choke him. Just before he woke up, he heard someone new calling his name.

…

Two weeks later and an unusual energy reading behind a moon became a rescue operation for Suliban prisoners. From enemies to allies in a few days, Trip could hardly believe it. Of course, if anyone could take the high road and help people no matter the circumstances, it was Jonathan Archer.

At first, he’d been rankled by T’Pol’s insistence on following by the Tandaran’s draconian regulations, but to be fair, once Grat had only increased his shifty bureaucratic stalling, she had agreed with Trip’s suggestion to just check they were okay. It was a relief that although she insisted on respecting other species’ laws, even the stupid ones, that she wouldn’t put them above the crew’s wellbeing. His nerves still hadn’t been soothed though, only visual confirmation that the Captain was still kicking would do that.

Seeing Malcolm in full Suliban disguise come striding around the corner almost gave Trip a heart attack, even as he’d been expecting it. Malcolm had given him a funny look, then quipped.

“At least we know it works.” Huffing, and trying to calm his breathing, Trip had gone to the transporter controls as Malcolm had hopped on. Unable to read his expression, Trip murmured.

“Ready?” Breathing in deeply, Malcolm nodded.

“As I’ll ever be.” Trip transported him down and then rushed off to run final checks on the Shuttlepod. Though he’d attempted to portray utter confidence to T’Pol during the planning session, he was in fact a bundle of nerves. Whilst he’d completed simulations of firing and flying at the same time, he’d never done it for real with so much on the line. If he missed and didn’t destroy the gun towers then the prisoners, including the Captain, Travis and Malcolm, could be killed. If he missed and ended up blowing up the wrong part of the building, the same result. He would have to be fast and precise. For a brief moment, he wished that Malcolm had stayed with him, his steady presence usually enough to calm Trip’s nerves. But then he shook himself and got on with it.

Luckily, the plan went off mostly okay and they got everyone out. Hearing the Captain at the debriefing, hearing how he’d talked to the prisoners and come to his decision, it brought home to Trip just how perfect Archer was for the job. Robinson or Duvall would have made a different call, Trip knew. That was his friend. That was the man he… Things were still complicated and unresolved between them, Trip didn’t know how he felt, especially after Malcolm had dropped his wild theory at Thanksgiving and then that awkward kiss at Christmas. Before _Enterprise_ he had been in love with Jon. Now, things were different. Did he still love Jon? The honest answer was that he didn’t know. Part of him was afraid to stop long enough to work it out. Maybe it was better not to know. It wasn’t as if the answer would matter to anyone but himself. As the meeting wrapped up, Trip looked again at Archer and thought.

That’s the man I’m proud to call my Captain.

…

Trip tried to keep from wincing at the sight of the large bruise on Malcolm’s face. The silly man obviously hadn’t accepted Phlox’s unconventional healing methods, probably insisting that the standard issue bruise rub would be adequate. It most certainly wasn’t. Ignoring the tense, jumpy air which clung to the Lieutenant, Trip bounded up, asking loudly.

“What you getting?” Reed glared at him, muttering.

“I just need a coffee.”

“Aw come on, you need something else!”

“I’m just on light duties today.”

“You sure Phlox cleared you? You still look like…” Even foolhardy Tuckers couldn’t survive Malcolm’s most deadly glare, so Trip backed down a little. “Alright, alright. Just, come on, have some eggs or something.” He grabbed a plate off the pass and steered the wounded man to a table and into a seat. Placing the dish and his own tray down, he sat down himself and watched Malcolm fold his arms and wince in pain. Finally, he managed to grind out moodily.

“I’m not hungry.” Trip adopted his most upbeat voice, for maximum annoyance factor.

“Come on, Mal! You gotta eat something or Phlox’ll be after you!” Taking the high road and not reacting to Trip’s tactics, Malcolm sniffed.

“What Phlox doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Trip just tilted his head, with mock-guilty expression. The patient narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“To be honest, Mal, I’m not really sure I like the idea of you wandering around the ship like this. You till look like Hell!”

“Well you don’t look so fresh yourself, Commander!” Not sure if his long, sleepless night really was showing on his face or Malcolm was purely deflecting, Trip decided to let that slide. Instead, he injected some steel into his voice as he ordered.

“Just eat the damn eggs, Mal.” Huffing, Malcolm picked up his fork and cut up one piece, stabbing it and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed it obnoxiously thoroughly, swallowed and then opened his mouth wide to prove it. Unable to help it, Trip laughed. Malcolm snapped his mouth shut again, assessed his friend for a moment and then smiled a little. He suppressed it quickly but kept on eating small bites. Trip started a conversation speculating where the escaped Suliban prisoners would go and soon they were joined by Hoshi and Travis. The boomer was still a bit sore, but had wisely chosen to subject himself to one of Phlox’s better-not-ask miracle cure and looked a whole lot better than Reed did. But whilst the Ensigns winced, no one mentioned the Lieutenant’s bruising and kept up a normal conversation. Travis’ evaluation into the events in the detention centre both through his eye witness account and how he’d assessed it afterwards in the greater context showed the makings of a fine officer. More opportunities to shine and Trip bet that the young man would be promoted before their mission was over.

As if to prove his theory, they then met the Kretassans.

…

The most frustrating aspect of the disastrous first contact had been Archer’s reaction to it. Whilst Trip had been just as confused and annoyed at the abrupt departure of the colourful-looking aliens, Jon had taken it very hard. Luckily, Trip had a contingency plan for the rare occasions that Jon became melancholy.

Although he pretended otherwise, Jon had asked about installing a pool on _Enterprise_ before. It had been among his notes as they were approving the final layouts of the decks. Next to the space Trip had marked as the gym, Jon had added ‘pool?’. Snowed under by paperwork and already behind schedule with the final layout approvals, Trip had just deleted the note and forwarded it on to Forrest’s people. He’d known that the suggestion might have started a discussion they didn’t have time for and ultimately it would have been a ‘no’. He had planned on teasing Jon for the indulgence, but due to one thing or another had forgotten.

Trip was glad for a chance to hang out with Jon. It had been a long time since they’d just kicked back and enjoyed themselves without falling into shoptalk (the pool enquiry notwithstanding). Usually something or other would interrupt or one of them would mention an update or report or ship gossip. _Enterprise_ was a huge part of their lives – so much so that Trip sometimes forgot his life before Star Fleet. If not for the messages from his family, he might have. He didn’t have anything besides his family that wasn’t connected to his job. Except…

 Jamie had responded to his overture with a letter of his own. He’d been in Japan, having exhausted the Americas for new sights. Whilst he’d related some amusing tales of his adventures in Asia, Trip thought that he had been feeling a little nostalgic as well. He didn’t say anything explicit, just that he was glad that Trip had kept his promise and was following his dream, but his eyes were warm and his smile would gentle between stories. Trip hadn’t answered yet, wondering what he would say…if he even should. Should that part of his life remain finished or could something more be built there? Just a small friendship: reminiscing and entertaining each other with the latest escapades. And with a large vacuum of space between them, there wouldn’t be any danger of anyone getting hurt, right? Trip could keep things light and frothy. Part of him didn’t want to let go of Jamie, despite the long years since their last meeting he still felt something. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it was definitely there. His musings were interrupted by Kelly on the comm.

…

Slowly, he became aware of Others. They were like him, but not like him. He was vaguely aware that this was the alien, linking them together. But now he was unafraid as he was plunged into a world of intense sensations and foreign memories.

They were standing on a cold pebble beach, staring out on a flat grey horizon, dread in their belly. Then in a packed club, hot sweaty bodies all around, one nudging up behind them as they twisted up into a passionate kiss. Suddenly, they were in a bulky EV suit, watching in horror as someone in front of them tried to take off their helmet. A second later, they were kissing someone desperately, tears trickling down their cheeks as they held on tight to a thick leather jacket on a cool summer’s morning. Then new baby smell filled their nostrils as they carefully held a tiny person in their arms and smiled wider than they’d ever smiled before. Their father was dying, the beeps ringing in their ears; they were swimming alongside clown fish in clear waters; they were running through a cool forest with children’s voices echoing around them; they were tucked awkwardly in a Jefferies’ tube, gasping through an intense climax, firing a phase pistol at a target; laughing hysterically, sobbing into someone’s arms, wincing from a massive explosion, moaning into a kiss, their throats were burning, eyes watering, limbs tingling and blood pumping. They were alive. They were together. They were One.

Then he was cold and wet. He was lying on something hard and he was weak, so weak. It took a long while for him to realise that he was alone. There were voices from far away and he shifted, groaning slightly. He felt light-headed and light in general; disturbingly free. Where were the Others? Where was Jon? Someone was talking to him. They were asking him a question. He pushed himself up a little, arms shaking with the effort and blinked. Hoshi was crouching beside him, and she was talking but she wasn’t making any sense. His vision swam and tried to speak but couldn’t. There was movement from his other side and he managed to turn and see a figure stumbling to their feet. Jon. He was leaning on T’Pol, covered in goo and unsteady. But he was upright. Coughing, Trip tried to find the energy to do the same. Something was hooked under one of his arms and pulled him upwards. Encouraged, he slipped his legs forward and managed to stand. His vision blurred and then he was in Sick Bay. Head heavy, he struggled to process what was happening. Sounds were still muted, as if his head was underwater. Where had been the water? Had he fallen into the pool?

Something hit him in the neck and his hand flailed belatedly, finding nothing but air. After that, he understood what…T’Pol… was saying to him. The alien had released them and they were returning it to its home world. He and the others will be fine. The others…He blinked and finally saw the other people in Sickbay, patients and medical personnel. Phlox came over and after a short conversation, he was lead to the Sickbay showers. After a quick wash to get the worse of the goo off, he staggered back to his quarters and into bed, falling asleep instantly.

…

Whilst Phlox had deemed the side effects as negligible – light headaches and general fatigue – he recommended that all of them take at least a day of leave which the Captain and T’Pol had both supported. Trip woke up after a medicated night’s sleep, feeling lousy but markedly better than before he’d crashed onto his bed, still dressed in the scrubs from Sickbay. Strangely, he hadn’t dreamed. Usually the one thing he could count on to happen after a traumatic event was nightmares. Maybe he just hadn’t remembered it…

He went to Sickbay first. Phlox had been concerned when Crewmen Kelly and Zabel had failed to regain consciousness; even as he’d asserted that they should have no lingering effects, he’d kept them overnight for observation. When he entered, Trip was pleased to see Kelly awake and alert. He walked over and greeted her.

“Morning.” She smiled weakly at him.

“Morning, Commander.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better, sir.” Smiling knowingly at her hesitation, he ventured.

“But still a bit strange?”

“Yes, sir.” Grimacing, Trip said quietly.

“Just fer today, you can call me Trip.” He saw from her expression that she was remembering their shared flashes of memories, some of them intimate, both sexually and emotionally. He still felt raw and uncomfortable. Even as the intensity and closeness of the recollections made it hard to figure out which memory belonged to which person, he knew which ones were his and just the fact that other people had witnessed, no _experienced_ them, made him feel queasy. He figured it would feel worse for the junior crewmembers; having a superior officer see inside your head must be very disconcerting. Hell, Trip was anxious about what Jon had figured out about him. Kelly smiled awkwardly in response and Phlox saved them from an uncomfortable silence. He reiterated the need for them to rest and report anything out of the ordinary to him immediately. Trip offered to walk Kelly to her room.

“You bunk with Fuller, right?” Kelly nodded. “What shift is she on today?” After thinking for a moment, she confirmed alpha shift. “You get her to keep an ear out for ya.” They walked into Lieutenant Reed as they were leaving. He greeted them stiffly and Kelly looked at Reed strangely, as if seeing him for the first time. Trip returned the greeting and watched Kelly as she watched the Lieutenant go over to Zabel’s bed. After a moment, he murmured.

“Janelle?” She started, her eyes snapping to his. “You alright?” Blinking she nodded.

“Yeah.” They left Sickbay and she continued. “Just remembering.” He looked at her quizzically and she frowned. “You don’t remember seeing him smiling?”

“What are you talking about? Malcolm smiles all the time.” Kelly looked at him disbelievingly and then shook her head.

“In the…when we were…you know, there was a memory. He was…holding some food or something and his eyes, it was like they were dancing.”

“Was it cake? The food he was holding.” She nodded and he realised the memory could have come from him or Jon but then she went on.

“I’ve never seen him smile like that before. I felt so happy to see it.” Definitely from him then. Damn it. If Jon remembered it as well, he’d probably work out that the emotion was Trip’s. Then he’d have more ammunition for whatever plot he had going. Double damn. Letting the moment pass, he changed the subject.

“Look, I know that you might not be comfortable speaking to me but if you ever need to talk about anything…” Managing a soft smile, Janelle nodded.

“Appreciate it, sir.” He saw her to her door and then headed to Rostov’s quarters. The dread increased the closer he got. Unlike Kelly, Rostov had been awake for Trip’s melt-down. Whilst he doubted that the man would openly question his orders, nonetheless he couldn’t imagine how his crewman could fail to view him differently. After only a moment of hesitation, Trip pushed down his apprehension and rang the bell. There was a long pause before the door opened. Dark circles under his eyes, hair mussed and shoulders slumped, Rostov looked as haunted and uncomfortable as Trip felt. Recognising him, his crewman stood to attention quickly. Trip put up a placating hand.

“At ease.” He gestured to his civilian clothes. “Off duty.”

“Er, yes, of course, Commander. Come in.” Biting back the offer to call him Trip, doubting Rostov would take him up on it, he followed the man into his quarters. They were neat and tidy, with the exception of the bed which hadn’t been made yet.

“So I guess the million-dollar question is: do you _know_ how you feel?” Rostov forced a laugh, running a hand over his face.

“Not at all.” Trip smiled gently.

“Join the club.” The crewman groaned.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. It doesn’t seem real.”

“Yeah, it definitely ranks as one of the weirdest first encounters.” Rostov thought for a moment longer, then shook himself.

“What’s been the weirdest?” Trip considered. His pregnancy immediately sprang into his mind, but that came with so many other powerful emotions – none of them good – so he shoved it aside and said.

“Flying the Suliban cell ship was pretty strange.” Rostov nodded, still looking lost and exhausted. “How bout you get some more sleep?” He nodded again for a long time without making a move, so Trip took pity on him. “Here.” He took his crewman by the elbow and sat him down on the bed. Grabbing some water, he handed it over and Rostov drank automatically. Gently, Trip sat beside him, letting the man gather his thoughts.

“Sir…My father’s still alive. I checked earlier. But…he was dying. I felt…Bozheh moy!” Lowering his eyes to his lap, Trip sighed. He thought he knew whose memory that had been. As far as he knew, Kelly’s parents were alive. He didn’t know about Zabel but something told him that the paralysing despair and fear had been Jon’s. He thought for a moment, considering how heavy a burden like that must have been for a young boy. Bozheh moy indeed.

“Think we just walked a mile.” Rostov blinked but then caught his meaning.

“A couple of hundred miles.” Seeing his expression caught between thoughtful and sad, Trip said softly.

“Best not to try and figure out what belongs to who.” Rostov nodded, leaning back against the bulkhead. “But you should probably talk to someone neutral. Phlox is always available and he’s actually a great listener.” At Rostov’s silent question, Trip explained vaguely. “He’s help me out a few times.” They’d both seemed to have run out of things to say, so Trip took his leave.

As he walked down the corridor, his eyes went to a comm panel and he contemplated asking Jon if he wanted to talk. But his stomach clenched at the thought and he left it for later.

…

His first shift back in Engineering was a little awkward. Rostov was on duty and their usual easy rapport felt strained. The rest of the team seemed to be either tiptoeing around them, or going out of their way to pretend that nothing had happened. Hess managed the best, but Trip could still see worry in her eyes. Trip worked hard to shrug off both his team’s concerns and the lingering sense of detachedness.

It helped that Malcolm didn’t seem to be treating him any differently. In fact, he’d provided a great distraction in describing how he’d finally succeeded in configuring the force field generator. Never had Trip been more thankful of Malcolm’s overachieving nature, nor would he ever find amusement in it ever again. Trip dropped by the Armoury one day to see the specs and the two spent a pleasant hour or two talking through possible improvements.

A few days after, Trip asked if Jon wanted to try finishing the game, but Jon declined, saying he was still catching up with paperwork. Trip kept meaning to talk to Jon, but with one thing or another, they never seemed to get around to it. A week passed and they still hadn’t talked. Was Jon avoiding him? Trip’s heart clenched at the thought but there was also an accompanying resignation. He couldn’t force Jon to talk if he didn’t want to. He’d come to Trip when he was ready. If he ever wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian: Bozheh moy = oh my God
> 
> The last three chapters need more work and I'm starting a new job tomorrow so updates may take a while. Thanks for your patience, will upload as soon as I can.  
> :D


	9. Meeting V'Lar and Risa preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallen Hero and Desert Crossing.

Meeting V’Lar was…odd, to say the least. She’d gone and broken all of T’Pol’s protocols for how to deal with her; shaking their hands, being interested in them and not meditating all the time.  She’d even teased him over his innocent question! Chuckling awkwardly, Trip had experienced an out-of-body moment when he realised he was sitting next to a Vulcan who’d just made a joke at his expense, but not maliciously. She’d been being…playful, not condescending. So not all Vulcans looked down their nose at their ‘inferiors’. That she didn’t deny the criminal charges against her was surprising, in his experience, Vulcans swore until they were well, green in the face they were innocent until you uncovered evidence of a secret spy station. Even then they would blame everyone else but themselves. After the Vulcan women had left the Captain’s Mess, the Captain had sat down again, staring at his plate. Trip followed suit, trying to think of something to say. Eventually he managed.

“That was unexpected.” Archer didn’t seem to hear him though. After a moment, he nodded to himself and stood.

“I better check on T’Pol.” And then he’d left too. Trip sat there unmoving until Crewman Taylor came in to clear the plates. Sighing, Trip stood.

“Better tell Chef to cancel dessert.” The steward nodded hesitantly, obviously curious as to why the Commander had been left alone with everyone else’s dinners unfinished. Looking down at the table, replaying the last few minutes, Trip shrugged. “Vulcans.” He’d decided to go to the gym to try and lose himself in a workout when the ship started jolting like it was under fire. He raced to Engineering, just in time to see an explosion in the aft section. He hurried got to work throwing out orders and racing to the consoles, putting out fires both literally and figuratively. No comm came from the bridge so he didn’t distract them, just keeping the engines going despite what was most definitely laser fire to their hull.

Luckily no one was hurt and Trip kept well out of the way as the Captain struggled to get some answers from the Ambassador. He definitely didn’t want to wade into that whole mess. First they were turning back, then they were hightailing it away again. The Mazarites returned and Trip and his team fought to keep the engines going as fast as possible without exploding. Anxious about the pressure on all systems, Trip called in everyone on the team, including those off-shift to monitor the engines, EPS grid, hull plating, anything that might affect the Warp field.

Then the call came to finally stop. Reed commed, giving Tucker a brief update as the Captain was initialising some kind of ruse. No one was to leave their stations or be in the corridors until the all-clear was given. Reed’s tone was obviously unhappy but there was no time to figure it out. Taking the unspoken hint that more trouble might be on the horizon, Trip performed triage on the engines. After the momentary respite, the team jumped into action, replacing blown fuses, swapping out relays, one of the injectors had to be fixed. A tense quiet settled in Engineering, the radio silence from the Bridge and the Captain weighing on all of them. Then the ship began rocking again. Kimball almost fell from where she was going down a ladder, but Dillard grabbed her just in time. Hess threw a worried glance the Commander’s way but his eyes were on the hull plating readouts. No stress to the plating, the shots were going above them. He met her eyes and nodded. The cavalry must have arrived.

It was a good few hours before Trip was happy enough to leave Engineering in gamma shift’s capable hands. He’d made them promise to comm him the minute they got an anomalous reading. A little annoyed that the Captain hadn’t updated him yet, he contemplated going to see what was going on. Standing in the turbolift, however, tiredness won out and he changed course, going straight to bed.

…

The next morning, Archer caught Tucker up on the details he wasn’t putting in the report. When the Captain mentioned that the ambassador was a kind of ‘hero’ for T’Pol – as close a concept as Vulcans got to a ‘hero’ anyway – her reactions made more sense. Thinking about it, it shouldn’t have been surprising. He’d already noticed T’Pol breaking away from Vulcan norms, it would follow that one of her role models also didn’t follow the ‘Humans-dumb, Vulcans-long-suffering parents’ way of thinking. Take for example: T’Pol’s suggestion that they visit Risa to ‘ease their tensions’. For a wild moment, Trip had thought that she’d picked up on the increasingly confusing tangle of emotions between himself, Malcolm and the Captain, especially as she mentioned regulations. Hiding behind humour, he’d teased her about being outside of the regulations’ purview but then she’d mentioned performance levels and he’d relaxed a little. Although she’d gone about it in a very Vulcan way, he doubted that many other Vulcans would have thought to suggest the crew take a break to improve their efficiency. Then, she’d said the words: ‘Mr Tucker has a point’ on the Bridge. That moment, Trip would cherish forever. Even if it was her trying to get the Captain to relax. Absurdly, the image of T’Pol instructing the Captain in meditation on a beach popped into his head. Even more absurdly, it wouldn’t go away.

Anyway, as interesting as V’Lar and her presence’s effect on T’Pol was, he was relieved to have her off the ship. Having his engines being abused like that hadn’t been any fun. Though it did put more importance on his ‘increase Warp factor’ project. He’d been toying with different ideas to speed them up without a complete redesign, although he was sending data and ideas back to R&D for the new build. That new engine would hopefully at least get to 5.5 with all the updates.

The day felt a little longer than usual due to his fatigue from the excitement the day before and also the fact that he’d had to spare Crewwoman Taylor and Rhodes to work on repairing the imagining chamber. Shooting at what you thought was a seriously injured person…despicable. These ‘fish people’ as he’d overheard Travis dub them, were almost as bad as the Klingons. No honour. Though at least the Mazarite criminals hadn’t claimed to be honourable in the first place, just lied about their motives. Typical. It was a good thing that Risa was on the horizon, or Trip might have gotten jaded about their mission again.

…

The good news about upcoming shore leave spread quickly throughout the ship. The database was inundated by searches for Risa and the facilities there. Though T’Pol might have assumed that Humans needed sexual intercourse to remain functional, Trip doubted that many would be interested in pursuing that. There were still plenty of activities that you couldn’t do on a starship people had to be missing, like Travis’ plan to go rock climbing for example. Given his own reputation, however, Trip knew he couldn’t claim to simply want to go surfing.

He’d worn the shirt as Phase One of his plan: Operation Distraction. By playing up his terrible game, it wouldn’t be so suspicious if it was found out that he didn’t get lucky on Risa. Because just the thought of being intimate with someone he’d just met, alien or human, was now far from appealing. Throughout his most sexually active years, he’d occasionally pulled strangers, Jamie being one of them. Once he’d begun his period of near-celibacy, however, he’d mostly refrained from that, finding the idea of hooking up tiring and distracting instead of exciting. Well, he had been running himself ragged on the Warp 5 project most of the time, so that might have been both a catalyst and excuse for the new attitude. The Xyrillian incident had destroyed the allure of intimacy with an alien. He’d only initiated the chaste little kiss with Liana after researching their mating rituals and biology. Anyway, she’d been inexperienced and he’d known her just long enough to know she’d understand what the gesture meant. A fond farewell and wish for good luck.

Another facet of Operation Distraction was to give people something to laugh about that wouldn’t make him self-conscious or upset. Phase Two was to talk loudly about what he planned to do, for example when he’d made the casual comment to Malcolm about the Nuvian masseuses. Whenever he mentioned Risa and his plans, he noticed people out of the corner of his eye, exchanging knowing smiles and rolling their eyes. This was encouraging and he felt better about it, even as he predicted that he’d end up spending the time on this supposed paradise planet alone.

He considered asking Jon to join him for old times’ sake. Maybe he could help Jon get laid and make up a vague and questionable story about what happened to him afterwards. It would also help Jon. He needed to unwind away from his heavy responsibilities as Captain. But then Jon told him of his idea to book a villa on the coast, take Porthos for long walks along the beach and catch up on his reading. Trip realised that maybe a complete break from _Enterprise_ and everyone on it, would be better for him. Chance for him to process things. So he didn’t make the offer.

…

The events on Toroth, from around the halfway point of them walking through that furnace to being bundled into Sickbay, seemed almost like a fever dream. He knew intellectually that most of the things he remembered had actually happened, but they all had a dream-like quality to them. The whole episode seemed so surreal, with a lot of his recollections jumbled. He devoted a lot of the following day, as he spent most of his shift in his office on strict light duties only, piecing things together. The match, the ‘interesting’ dinner, the trek through the bakingly hot sands, the sad history lesson and the Captain’s good deeds coming back to haunt him, all moulded into one long and exhausting day. At the start of their trek Trip had never felt so tender, bone-tired and shrivelled from the heat, but then as he’d sunken deeper into heat stroke and the delirium that came with it, his hurts had dulled and his senses gone wonky. Hot had become cold, sand had become glass and he’d floated above his own body at times. The only thing that had been consistent was Jon’s presence beside him. At the time enormously comforting, Trip subsequently felt highly embarrassed by just how much Jon had been forced to babysit him. Forcing water down his throat, constantly nudging him to keep him awake and lugging him around, using his own body as a shield…

This marked yet another time that Jon had been forced to pull Trip’s ass out of the fire. Sitting as his desk, Trip sighed and rubbed his face before wincing at the pull of still healing skin. Despite his best efforts, he’d been a liability, again. He struggled to think of what he could do to stop this dependency. Maybe he needed to do some more training or retraining, learning to come at certain situations differently. Malcolm might be able to help him. He made a mental note to ask the man, glumly predicting that the security officer would jump at the suggestion.

At the end of his shift, Hess and some of the others presented him with a riotously coloured shirt: bright blue with red lobsters dotted around. He laughed at the silliness of it, also touched that they’d been thoughtful in their joke-gift – his love of obnoxiously loud shirts was well known but most people tried to avoid adding to his stock. Looking up, he noticed worry in some of their eyes. Hess had often expressed her concern over his increasingly dangerous away missions and this had started to spread to the others, especially those with friendships in the Medical and Bridge teams. Whilst the average crewman can read official reports if they want, or overhear retellings of away missions, those directly involved tended to have a better understanding of the implications or possible consequences. He’d noticed Kelly and Fuller watching him closely after the incident on Shuttlepod One, both seeming to realise just how close he and Malcolm had come to suffocating. Also, Kimball had made a point of asking how he was after the physic goo-incident in Cargo Bay 2. He was sure that she’d also asked the others but he also suspected that she hadn’t finished with ‘it’s been a tough mission so far, huh?’. More and more, his team expressed concern more than amusement although the jokes and teasing continued. It was a time-honoured method of coping with trauma and one he encouraged. So he thanked them sarcastically, and promised to wear it on Risa. Exchanging a glance with Hess, he patted her on the arm and left Engineering. Maybe the shirt would turn out to be a good luck charm.

…

The following day, Phlox had asked after his mental state from the desert adventure during his follow up but Trip had just shrugged and answered honestly that he didn’t feel traumatised by it. He just felt tired and sore.

“To be honest, I think this whole thing was harder on the Cap’n.” The doctor had nodded reluctantly at that assessment and given Trip a clean bill of health.

“Have you discussed the incident with the Captain?” Trip tried not to wince; he hadn’t had a proper conversation with Jon since before the Cargo Bay 2 ordeal. Part of him was afraid of what could be stirred up or revealed if he did, a large part of him. He suspected that every one of them remembered different things from the experience so he had no idea exactly what Jon had seen. Jon hadn’t said anything or acted noticeably differently around him, so it couldn’t be anything abjectly terrible, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be embarrassing or shameful. He could have felt Trip’s interest in Malcolm, his anxiety around new species, his worry about the danger they were always finding themselves in. The secrets were building up. No, not quite secrets per se. More like hidden parts of himself. He felt like more and more of his soul was being cast into shadow. How long until he was completely in the dark? He mumbled something unconvincing to Phlox and the put upon doctor reluctantly let it drop. Trip strode out of Sickbay and tried to leave his dark thoughts there.

…

Two days after Trip and Archer survived being roasted alive on Toroth, the most romantic day of the year was upon them. Although they were a group of professional adults on perhaps one of Humanity’s most important missions, the crew of the _Enterprise_ still got ridiculous about Valentine’s Day. Only a handful of crewmembers had significant others back on Earth and the ratio of men to women was not favourable. Trip was aware of multiple sets of crewmen and women hooking up and dating, thanks to Hess and Kelly’s insights, but luckily no incidents had forced him to look too closely.

Never a fan of that particular holiday, Trip had offloaded the planning responsibilities to Parrett and Hoshi, who surprisingly had volunteered. Perhaps the linguist did want to accept the affections of one of her admirers after all. Or maybe direct their attention elsewhere. Trip had no doubt in the woman’s abilities to achieve her goals, whatever they may be.

At breakfast one morning the Captain explained the origin and meaning of the day to T’Pol; Trip at turns amused and jealous. He still remembered Jon’s seemingly increased efforts to educate their Vulcan friend on the curious human traditions of mistletoe and kissing at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Just because he hadn’t noticed any signs of reciprocation from the Sub Commander, didn’t mean that they weren’t there or that his jealousy was baseless. Not that he was going to bring any attention to this, of course. He let them talk and just ate his omelette moodily.

Many ideas of how to celebrate were bandied about, most of them shot down by either the Captain or T’Pol. In the end, they decided on some flowery decorations, some re-sequenced roses and electric candles in the Mess. The word was put around that a blind eye would be shown to the Mess Hall that evening, though of course, there would be reasonable limits to this tolerance.

Trip was not feeling in the least bit romantic. His burns had mostly faded, thanks to this cool gel Phlox had dispensed, though his skin was still peeling in places under his uniform, making it itchy and uncomfortable. His ribs only ached when he moved suddenly, so he took to easing into chairs and walking at a slower pace than normal. Having been properly rehydrated and rested, he was back on regular duties; that didn’t stop him from feeling sand and grit where the wasn’t any. God, did he hated deserts! He had no plans to attend the party in the Mess Hall and claimed tiredness when anyone asked.

After his shift he slunk to his room, having swiped an extra sandwich from lunch. There were some reports he had been meaning to finish anyway. Trying to find a comfortable position on his desk chair in his quarters, a message pinged up. It was Reed. He’d sent over his latest proposal on improving the hull plating’s durability. Though tempted to make a comment about Malcolm working through this particular evening, Trip resisted. It would be a little hypocritical and anyway, it was nice to have some solidarity. He didn’t want to ruin it by calling attention to it. He spent a pleasant evening tinkering with some schematics and exchanging increasingly conversational messages with Reed. Hell, it beat wondering what the Captain and T’Pol were doing.

…

Unfortunately, due to their delays to the pleasure planet, they were limited to only 15 crewmembers being able to enjoy the delights. Trip was tempted to suggest to T’Pol rigging it so the Captain would definitely get drawn, but somehow thought that the Vulcan wouldn’t go for that. Thankfully, he hadn’t needed to tamper with anything. The Universe apparently agreed that Captain Archer needed a vacation. As he’d decided not to bother the Captain with the idea of partying, Trip was fully prepared to go out alone. It would be easier to keep up the ruse, but also the idea made him apprehensive. What if something happened? He could think of a hundred scenarios in which his communicator would be broken or lost or stolen and leave him vulnerable to any number of dangers. Fortunately, an unlikely knight in a blue jumpsuit came to his rescue.

At first, it hadn’t seemed like a rescue. In fact, Malcolm casually mentioning that he was also interested in ‘getting to know the locals’ had presented a problem. Having to dupe the most eagle-eyed person on the ship, that would almost certainly be beyond Trip’s mediocre acting skills. On the other hand, Malcolm reaching out to him first was…a first. In his heart, Trip knew that he couldn’t discourage the move for anything. Seeing his friend’s expression, he briefly wondered if that was the exact reason Malcolm had saved his move for that occasion. Clever man…

“You know, I’m a little surprised you’re so gung-ho about getting up close and personal with the other patrons on Risa.” From the searching tone, Trip knew that he was on thin ice. He shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” But then he remembered Thanksgiving and went on quickly. “I told ya, there’s nothing between the Cap’n and me.” Malcolm held up his hands innocently.

“I wasn’t going to bring that up.” He paused for effect. “Even if you’re wrong about that.” Trip narrowed his eyes but then Malcolm shut him up with his next words. “Actually, I was thinking about the Xyrillian incident.” Stomach clenching, Trip’s whole body tensed. He’d been rumbled, there was no way he could pretend that nothing bad had happened there. All he could do was defend against any more curious prods. He gulped and then huffed dramatically, crossing his arms and saying unnecessarily.

“Okay, you got me. I’m not gonna, you know.” Malcolm’s exaggerated ‘aha!’ grated on Trip’s already short nerves.

“Is that what the Hawaiian shirts are about?” Trip snapped back, indignant.

“Hey! I love those shirts!” Though he then conceded. “But yeah, they only get attention from the visually impaired. Plan is to talk long and loud and go home alone.” Malcolm’s expression turned serious and he asked tentatively.

“What you said about the Xyrillian…” Caught between a defensive anger and fear of Malcolm finding out, Trip choked out.

“Part of the reason I’m going to be careful.” He opened his mouth to say more but then closed it again. An idea suddenly sprung up. “Hey! I can be your wingman! No use in neither of us getting any.” Malcolm narrowed his eyes but then let Trip off the hook and considered.

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever had a wingman before.” Clapping his hands together, Trip grinned.

“Brilliant! You leave everything to me.” Cutting him a dubious look, Malcolm replied dryly.

“I can’t wait.” Trip waved a hand, ignoring the call which followed him down the hall. “Any Hawaiian shirts within 10 metres of my person will be burned with extreme prejudice!” Trip went to dive back into the Vulcan database. This was just what he needed, a project, something to take his mind off his troubles. This holiday was going to be unforgettable.


	10. Risan Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Days and Two Nights

Impressed by the Risan’s willingness to please – though at a cost of some dilithium – Trip was actually looking forward to getting down to the planet. He heard a disgruntled crewman mutter how unlikely it was that most of the Bridge Crew had been ‘randomly’ selected but otherwise, people just seemed to accept their lot. There would be other opportunities.

They shuttled down and were shown to their hotel rooms. It was late afternoon by the time they’d gotten sorted, so most of the crew had dinner together. After the desserts, Trip and Malcolm broke off from the crowd, dropping into the most popular clubs according to the Vulcan database. Even though they were on an alien planet, the low lighting, scantily clad women and loud music were familiar. Sticking close to Malcolm and pretending he didn’t feel too old for that scene, Trip gratefully accepted a fruity-looking cocktail from a passing waitress. Malcolm leant back on the bar, eyes scanning the room as if assessing the crowd for threats. Half a year ago, Trip might have teased him about it, but to his surprise, the caution made him feel safe.

After the Security Officer was satisfied with their surroundings, they found a table and moved on from the fancy drinks to some kind of bottled ale. It wasn’t half as bad and Trip found himself feeling warm and syrupy despite the disco lights and thumping bass. He glanced at Malcolm, who was still tense, and tried to distract him enough for him to relax.

“Disappointed T’Pol didn’t get to come down with us?” Snapping his eyes to the supine Southerner, Malcolm groaned.

“I make _one_ comment in passing _once_ -” Trip crowed.

“It definitely wasn’t once, buddy. And it definitely wasn’t ‘in passing’.” Malcolm just shook his head, lips twitching. Tongue loose, Trip found himself saying. “Just feel lucky that she doesn’t hate you. In fact, you’re probably the most Vulcan-esque person on board. If anyone had a shot…” Malcolm just raised his eyebrow, pointedly looking at Trip’s bottle like that was the reason for what he considered insanity. Leaning forward, Trip started warming to his idea. “Actually, why don’t you go for it?”

“Trip.” Insides bubbling at the sound of his name in that accent, Trip laughed.

“What? She doesn’t look at you like you’re the kid banging the drums on the subway; she must not hate you at least!” Malcolm put his drink down but before he could speak, like a dam had been cracked open, the words just rushed out. “She’s right to hate me, you know. Sometimes I don’t even know why I do the things I do.” Malcolm frowned even more.

“Steady on, that’s not fair. And she doesn’t hate you. She’s got no reason to look down on you more than the rest of us.”

“Oh, but she does.”

“What, look down on you or have reason to?”

“Both.” Something deep inside him cracked and he murmured. “I’m kinda fucked up Malcolm.” Leaning in so he could hear better, Malcolm cocked his head.

“You? I don’t buy it.” But Trip just stared back at him, steady and serious and Malcolm’s expression smoothed out. He leaned back, took a swig of his drink and then put the bottle down decisively. “Alright, there’s a test for this.”

“There is?” His friend nodded, clearing his throat and began in a crisper, posher accent.

“Yes. A colleague dies in front of you, do you a) get help and go to counselling b) drink or get doped up to forget or c) screw that colleague’s girlfriend until you both start crying.” Through the obvious attempt at deflecting-humour, Trip read intimacy in the ‘hypothetical situation’. It seemed too specific not to be personal. He suddenly remembered Malcolm describing his relationship with one of his many exes as ‘tumultuous’, was this what he meant? Matching the flippancy, Trip asked casually.

“Depends, how close are we?” Malcolm looked away, into his drink, and shrugged. Theory confirmed. Deciding to repay the honesty, he said simply. “Probably work myself till I drop, which one does that come under?” Malcolm considered, his tone still light despite the pain obviously bubbling underneath, starting to show in the lines of his face.

“I suppose work is a drug.”

“B it is!” Trip exclaimed, then he downed the rest of the drink and leaned forward, finger pointing as he countered. “Okay, I’ve got one for you. A senior officer corners you in an alleyway and tries to blackmail you into giving him a blowjob. Do you a) walk away, b) knee him in the crotch or c) let him take you back to his apartment to fuck you bloody?” If he was at all surprised by this, Malcolm didn’t show it; his own pain was boxed firmly back up.

“There’s no option to report him?” Trip shook his head firmly, Malcolm considered some more. “Is the sex good at least?”

“No, it was terrible. Not the worst I-you’ve ever had but definitely top 5.” Trip cursed his slip up for a few seconds, but then he suspected Malcolm had already figured it out, so didn’t beat himself up too bad. The Tactical Officer didn’t visibly react though, just saying.

“Depends on a lot of factors but as a rule: I’d walk away.” He conceded. “Today. In the past I might not have. So maybe you’ve grown out of it too.” There was a minute of awkward silence. Malcolm seemed to instantly regret breaking their unspoken agreement to pretend these horrible scenarios hadn’t happened to them. Trip sighed, feeling tired all of a sudden.

“Sorry, Mal. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Eyes pained, Malcolm tried to console him.

“We all make mistakes, that doesn’t make us beyond help.” Feeling a little better that his prediction that Malcolm would understand was proven correct, Trip mumbled.

“I haven’t ever told anyone about that.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Malcolm said into his drink, shoulders hunched. Trip coughed, thinking vaguely that they probably shouldn’t wallow all evening.

“I’ve got some better stories, funny ones...” Staring at the bottom of his bottle, Malcolm sighed.

“And yet I’ve found it’s the darkest ones that stay with you the longest.” Trip shivered, suddenly reminded of sorrowful words and visible puffs of air.

“There you go with the poetry again.” Swallowing, he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Yeah, I got a lot of stories: most of them are dumb shit I did as a kid. Though if I do, you gotta tell me some as well.” Malcolm smiled a little bitterly, looking around the room.

“Oh, I think watching me strike out will do that just fine.”

“Hell, sorry Mal. I’m meant to be backing you.” A few drinks and he’d made it about himself. Typical.

“To be honest, I think you’re right: sexual relations with a stranger, especially of an unknown species, might be a little too risky.” He looked up and smiled gently. “Anyway, I kind of like hearing about your dark side. Makes me feel better about myself.” Trip’s answering smile felt sharp and brittle.

“Get me a few more of these and I’ll oblige ya.” Malcolm grinned back and indicated to a passing server. As they unloaded the drinks, they were approached by two provocatively-dressed women. A year ago, Trip would have been very interested. However, even after the drinks he’d already had, anxiety started creeping through his body. His friend glanced at him before politely turning them down. Intensely grateful, Trip managed to nod and listen as Malcolm launched into a ridiculous tale of horny teenage boys at his old boarding school. Still a little shaky, Trip only got the bare bones, something involving: an old-fashioned matron, nylon tights, bread pudding and scaling out a second story window in winter. When Malcolm finished, he asked casually.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna catch up with those two? T’Pol has a point: lack of sex can cause a drop in efficiency.” Malcolm guffawed.

“She _never_ said that!” Trip laughed, feeling a lot better.

“She did! Near gave the poor Cap’n a heart-attack.” Malcolm giggled, took a drink and then considered.

“Maybe she was hoping for a tutorial in human sexuality from him?” Trip scrunched up his face at that.

“Ya think?” He shuddered. “I guess she has been buddy-buddy with him lately…Her butt give off any signs?” Malcolm finished his latest sip, eyebrow raised in question.

“Huh?” Trip grinned wolfishly.

“I assume you’ve got it under close surveillance.” Remembering that conversation, Malcolm’s lips twitched.

“That would be classified information, Commander.” Trip laughed and they shared a comfortable silence. Another drink later and Malcolm declared suddenly.

“I don’t even _like_ sex that much.” Trip blinked, taking a moment to understand the comment.

“All of it?” Malcolm shrugged, warming to his subject.

“I mean the orgasm bit is good, really good, but all the rest of it…it’s just exhausting. Having to work out what they want, what they don’t want, saying the right thing, not doing the wrong thing…” his voice turned sad, “and even if you _don’t_ fail, they can still fail _you_ …hurt you-”

“...leave you.” Trip added quietly, voice low and expression distant. After a moment he shook himself and said lightly. “Never tell the Captain all that. He’ll just give you a pep talk on how great you are and how you ‘just need to meet the right person for you’.” Malcolm snorted then asked curiously.

“You said that he knew how you feel about him…doesn’t that make things awkward?”

“Well, he only found out a year before we launched and by that time we knew he’d be my direct superior on _Enterprise_ so, our relationship was changing anyway. He started pulling away…or maybe it was both of us.” He sighed and took another pull. His friend was sympathetic.

“Nothing lasts forever.” Trip raised his glass in a toast.

“Amen to that.” Then, apropos of nothing, Malcolm said casually.

“I think I saw a sex shop on our way here.” Trip choked on his drink, coughing and rasping.

“Gawd Mal! I don’t even know if you’re joking or not!” Malcolm shrugged, voice teasing.

“If you want to rely on your hand for the rest of the mission…”

“You kinky bastard!” Malcolm waggled his eyebrows and feeling reckless, Trip downed the rest of his drink in two long gulps and slapped the table. “After you, good sir!” His atrocious English accent sent Malcolm into peals of laughter.

…

Having never been inside a sex shop on Earth, Trip couldn’t say how the Risan variety compared but it was definitely colourful, riotous and a little intimidating. It wasn’t particularly bigger than other shops they’d visited: just one large room divided into different sections by lots of long rows of shelves filled with mysterious objects. Whilst he wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, Trip had never strayed from vanilla sex before and couldn’t imagine what some of the items were meant to be used for. Malcolm looked confident wondering around, examining various pieces on the shelves – though that could have been the Risan drinks. Trip stuck close behind him, torn between the childlike urge to touch things a rare self-consciousness. Apart from a perfectly normal-looking couple a few rows down, they seemed to be the only other customers in there; a bored shop assistant sitting behind a desk in the corner.

Suddenly, Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks and Trip rose on his toes to stop from walking in to him, a hand flailing out to a nearby shelf to steady him. He touched something squishy but before he could look down, a sales-type voice addressed them.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the Bondmate Gear! This is a limited edition set, only available here!” Trip’s head followed her gaze and he saw what Malcolm was looking at. Suspended a few metres off the ground was someone in full bondage gear, arms tied behind their back, straps across their chest hooked up to the ceiling. Trip blinked, no, it was a dummy…he thought. He dragged his eyes away to Malcolm, who was still fending off the enthusiastic saleswoman, and noticed that his friend was blushing. Leaning in a little, he realised that Malcolm’s pupils were dilated and he was breathing a little more heavily than before. Huh. Interesting…

“The robo-Shiovra to your liking, sir? Let me turn it on for a quick demo!” Still playing drunken detective, Trip didn’t realise she was speaking to him until something grabbed his wrist. Yelping, he twisted round and saw what he’d touched earlier was a kind of tentacle-thing…it was pulsing but its grip was like iron and wouldn’t let him move. “It’s against regulations to sell real Shiovra of course, but our customers just love the robotic version!” She had a remote control and went on talking as Malcolm laughed and Trip squirmed. “This is the aggressive/possessive mode.” she pressed another button, “then there’s a more affectionate mode,” the thing released his wrist and gently, almost shyly, curled up his arm in a way that eerily reminded him of Porthos begging for a treat. Thankfully, Malcolm took pity on him and interrupted.

“Very interesting. Perhaps something a little more low-tech? Do you have any muscle rub and lubricants?”

“Yeah.” Trip squeaked. Disappointed, the saleswoman led them away and Trip shivered, glaring at Malcolm’s chuckles and trying to compose himself. The woman talked them through seemingly the whole collection, Malcolm asking informed questions about strength and duration of effects, different uses and thankfully still having the presence of mind to scan the samples she insisted on him trying. Trip began to tune them out, tiredness dragging his eyelids down.

After some amount of time, he felt a warm – thankfully human – hand on his and looked up to see Malcolm holding a package under his arm.

“Back to the hotel?” Sleepily, Trip nodded and they went, walking along under the heated lamps, winding between other groups enjoying the night life. “You going to be alright?” Malcolm asked quietly when they made it back to their rooms. Trip considered the question, assessing his physical and mental state. He was a little nauseous but as long as he didn’t agitate his stomach, he wasn’t in danger of spewing. He was emotionally drained and nightmares were inevitable but those weren’t anything Malcolm could help with.

“Yeah, you?” Malcolm shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah.” He said unconvincingly.

“You need help putting those away?” It was a lame overture and Malcolm saw right through it, beginning to protest.

“You’re tired, you should-” But Trip made an executive decision.

“Yours is this room, right?” He walked over and took Malcolm’s key card from his slack hand, opening the door over Malcolm’s half-hearted protests. He’d learned over the last few months that if his friend really objected to something he would make it very clear. Token protests were second nature to him, as was deflecting any personal questions. Malcolm’s room looked much the same as his own; with a double bed, desk, side table, armchair and more than enough room to manoeuver around them all. “Mind if I use your john?” Malcolm sighed and waved him on. Trip went to the en suite and relieved himself, concentrating on aiming straight. Once done, he washed his hands and stumbled out. Malcolm had taken off his shoes and secreted the packages somewhere. As he took his turn in the bathroom, Trip very carefully poured two glasses of water, proud of how little he spilled in the process. Malcolm’s lips twitched as he took his glass from a triumphant Tucker and reciprocated the proposed toast: “To the crazy planet of Risa!” They both drank deeply and sat next to each other on the end of bed.

“You going to the spa tomorrow?” Malcolm asked conversationally, as if they weren’t both desperate for company but too proud to admit it.

“I want to but…” glancing at his friend’s curious expression, Trip sighed, “I’m kinda afraid that I’ll freak out.” Malcolm frowned.

“I’m sure the Vulcan database would warn against anything too invasive.” He said softly. “It’s just a massage, Trip.” There was a pause and then Trip heard himself saying.

“Last time an alien touched me for more than 2 seconds, she put a baby in me.” There was a taught silence and then Malcolm asked quietly, voice suddenly dangerous.

“It was deliberate?”

“Not really.” Trip sighed heavily. “She didn’t think it could work with me so she didn’t mention that what we were doing wasn’t just ‘a game’ but their version of sex.” Malcolm was silent and stiff beside him. Trip continued as casually as he could. “It didn’t hurt or anything. I wasn’t scared. Didn’t even know anything was wrong till I was back on the ship. It’s not the same as…” He trailed off, cheeks burning as he thought of Phlox’s request and his letter to the person who had really suffered. He almost missed Malcolm’s next question.

“You ever tell anyone about this?”

“Just Phlox. He’s been helping me,” he huffed a sad laugh, “when I let him.” He went to take another drink but remembered it was just water and twisted his lip. “The damn hormones meant I didn’t even feel mad until after we left them again. By then it just seemed a little late to make a fuss about it. I’m usually okay, you know? I try not to think about it and I’m fine. It’s only when I’m close to an alien woman or Miss ‘keep-your-hands-to-yourself’ brings it up that...” In the end he did take another sip, for something to do. Malcolm broke the silence lightly.

“I don’t have 24 fingers, but I did take a rudimentary massage class once. To impress an old girlfriend.” It took a long moment for Trip’s tired and drunken mind to work out what that meant, then he blinked, unsure how he felt about it. “You should be honoured. I don’t make that offer to just anyone.” Malcolm joked half-seriously. Trip couldn’t muster a laugh.

“Just to fucked up engineers.” Bumping shoulders, Malcolm replied lightly.

“I’ve seen worse.” They sat quietly for a while longer before they began to sag and flop down onto the bed, putting their drinks on the side. Trip toed off his shoes tiredly, when he’d finished and settled back down, eyes on the beige ceiling, Malcolm asked. “Who was it? The senior officer in the alleyway?” Trip instantly regretted telling him that.

“You don’t know him.” He could see Malcolm observing him from the corner of his eye but deliberately didn’t meet the gaze. Tone a challenge, Malcolm prodded.

“Try me.” Trip sighed, waving a hand lazily.

“He’s one of Jon’s friends.” Malcolm dropped it, instead snarking.

“Friends don’t act like creepy bastards.” His voice was soft but his words still cut like razors. “So you didn’t tell Captain Archer to protect their friendship or because you thought you deserved it?” Trip couldn’t answer. After a moment he curled onto his side, nudging Malcolm’s shoulder with his forehead. Eventually, he countered quietly.

“That why _you_ didn’t tell anyone about your thing?” In reply, Malcolm’s hand found Trip’s and held it. They stayed like that until they fell asleep.

…

               Trip woke up with only a slight headache the next morning, though unfortunately he remembered everything that had happened the night before. Even his freaky tentacle dreams. Malcolm was already up, showered and dressed; sipping a hot drink and standing by the window. He turned as he heard Trip stirring and grinned.

“Morning, sunshine.” Trip groaned wordlessly and waved an irritated but weak hand in protest. Ignoring his amused audience, he dragged himself to the bathroom and took his turn, pausing to splash his face with water. Once he’d been presented with his own hot drink on his way out and taken a sip of the sharp and sinus-clearing concoction, he felt a little more charitable to his mock-er. “So, feel like venturing down for some breakfast?” He considered, taking another sip of the hangover cure.

“’M not hungry, but if you’re going…” Malcolm’s smile softened at the role reversal but wisely refrained from commenting. They stopped by Trip’s room so he could change, Malcolm purposefully turned away as Trip stripped and re-dressed, and then headed down to the hotel restaurant. As they got into the lift, Trip took another sip of the drink and wondered aloud:

“Where did you _get_ this stuff?” Malcolm just tapped his nose, making Trip smile.

They saw Ensign Islam and Crewman Ko in the dining room but only waved as the pair seemed cosy. It was a buffet-style arrangement and as the more functional of the two, Malcolm went around with his trusty scanner, filling two plates with the most appetising-looking fare. Trip parked himself at a table in the corner, working on his drink and trying to stay awake. Malcolm joined him and noticeably schooled an amused expression which Trip valiantly ignored. Despite his fragile-feeling stomach, Trip tried some of the food and found himself able to keep it down. They both perked up after eating and Trip agreed to Malcolm’s suggestion to check out the market. It boasted of wares from lots of different planets and promised to be interesting. Neither of them brought up the spa.

The market was large and sprawling with seemingly hundreds of stalls filled with colourful and exotic-smelling things. Meat and strange spice smells mingled with clouds of incense-like scents as they passed alien animal carcasses, artwork, clothes, odd-looking tools gleaming silver and bronze. Trip was swiftly lead away from an obnoxiously-coloured clothes stall, pouting all the way as Malcolm repressed a smirk. A little while later though, Malcolm was taken with what turned out to be antique plasma rifles from Loupanu Prime. They didn’t have any power cores, the seller explaining that it was nearly impossible to find those as that particular line had been discontinued a century-previous, but he did have some vid clips of them in action. They watched a sample and though a relative novice in Weaponry, Trip was impressed. Malcolm even more so. Trip could tell that his friend was very tempted. Trip held back a smile, saying innocently.

“All souvenir shopping is covered.” Malcolm bit his lip as the seller watched them closely.

“I doubt the Captain would approve.” Making a show of looking around, Trip’s accent thickened.

“Well, I don’t see him now.” Malcolm wavered, Trip leaned in. “They’d look mighty fine on yer wall.” The seller brought one off the display hooks and handed it to the Security Officer. Weighing it in his arms, he turned it this way and that, squinting down the scope. Laughing, Trip dug out the hotel card from his pocket and handed it to the seller to scan. “This thing come with a case?”

…

“You really shouldn’t have.” Malcolm said for the hundredth time. Vaguely reminded of circular arguments with his little nephews, Trip huffed fondly and said.

“I wanted to.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Backing down, Malcolm conceded.

“I’ll get you something on my card.” Trip grinned evilly and clapped his hands together.

“Thanks, Mal! Where was that clothes stall again?”

“No, not that!”

“So you’re not _that_ grateful.” Trip teased. Malcom finally gave up the bone and laughed.

“I don’t think anyone could be that grateful.” After a moment he cleared his throat and announced nonchalantly. “I checked earlier, the spa offers couple massages.” Surprised, Trip blurted.

“Are you propositioning me?” Huffing a laugh, Malcolm said dryly.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’d just mean that I would be in the same room. All the time.” He heard what Malcolm didn’t say and was absurdly grateful. And not just for the way the phrasing spared his pride. Feeing the warm sun on his face, hearing the clatter of alien voices around him and seeing Malcolm’s awkward but earnest expression, suddenly his ghosts seemed smaller.

“Well alright, you’ve convinced me.” Malcolm smiled and Trip’s breath caught at how his friend’s eyes sparkled. _Careful, Tucker._ He told himself.

His anxiety began to tingle in his chest as they entered the spa, having dropped of Malcolm’s gun at the hotel. However, Malcolm’s presence bolstered him and he let his friend handle the pre-massage conversation about injuries, allergies and scanning the oils that would be used. After that they stripped to their boxers in their appointed room. The beds were spongy, almost like they were made of gel but otherwise the room seemed the same as the Mexican spa Malcolm had once visited: calming colours, sounds of nature, low lighting. In a departure from his usual economical conversational style, Malcolm was practically chatty, filling in all the gaps Trip was leaving as he breathed calming breaths.

Their masseuses entered. They were tall and sinewy, with the famous 12 fingers at the end of plate-sized hands; their faces large and-oval shaped with big round eyes. Havenil and Sh’kra introduced themselves with melodic and soothing voices and Trip instantly felt at ease. He lay face down on the bed and didn’t tense up as Havenil covered his feet in oil and began to massage them. She dug her fingers into the soles, causing tingles all over his body. Her many fingers rubbing and pressing all at once, he couldn’t keep track of them and it all became a wave of sensation.

“Is the pressure agreeable?” She asked him and he could only moan a little in response. He heard Malcolm asking for more pressure and then he got lost in his body for a while. Occasionally the thought he heard Malcolm’s voice from far away but he couldn’t focus on any words. When those magic fingers reached his shoulders Havenil chuckled. “So much badness here. Heavy with duty.” As she tackled the sensitive knots he struggled not to squirm, knowing the discomfort would only be temporary. After a while Havenil coaxed him onto his back and worked from his head down. It had been ages since anyone had played with his hair and he enjoyed every moment of it. Her fingers reached the part of his chest where the embryo sac had once sat and she paused. He opened his eyes and wasn’t sure what her expression was, nor what she gleaned from his own face. After a moment, she asked softly.

“Does it harm you?”

“No.” He said honestly. She slid some fingers over the spot gently and the phantom weight of the sac pressed down on him again. The usual loss and resentment prickled under his skin but not the fear. He just felt calm; sure of himself, all present and correct. She murmured knowingly.

“Just the memories.”

“What did you do?” He asked in wonder. Vaguely, he was aware of movement to the side. Havenil just smiled as Malcolm’s face came into view.

“Alright?” Perfectly casual, as if he hadn’t interrupted his own massage to enquire. Looking up at the concern peeking through the neutral expression, Trip smiled; it hadn’t been Havenil at all.

“Yeah.”

“Do you require a moment?” Sh’kra asked. After another concerned glance down at Trip, Malcolm smiled and shook his head, returning to his own bed. The rest of the session concluded without incident.

…

               That evening, their last on the planet, Trip and Malcolm went to dinner in the main square. It was packed and they saw some fellow humans in the crowd, though they kept to themselves. They had barely spoken since returning from the spa; a comfortable silence as they were both deep in thought. Trip wasn’t blind, he’d thought about Malcolm as a potential partner before. The more he got to know him, the more the man’s special intensity and kindness shone through. Here was someone he could not only be with, someone he could fall for, hard. The fact that Malcolm had seemed to have helped him heal a little from some of his past demons only added to his appeal. However, all the reasons not to go there were still in play, along with some new ones. From their conversations together it was clear that they’d both had some history of unhealthy sexual behaviour and unsuccessful relationships. And although Malcolm had been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, that didn’t necessarily indicate sexual or romantic interest. Malcolm gave the impression of not having many close friends, though Trip had no idea why not. Once you broke through his aloof shell, he was an incredible person to know. For the time being at least, they should probably work on being friends, Trip decided. Though how to word that? He didn’t want his friend to retreat into his shell. Subtly was not his style, but for Malcolm, he’d try.

“You got your eye on anyone?” He asked as they were finishing their mains. Malcolm looked around them into the crowd and Trip clarified. “I mean on _Enterprise,_ ” he smirked, “apart from our Vulcan friend.” Malcolm huffed.

“You’re never going to let that die, will you?” Taking a sip of some kind of fruit juice, Trip swallowed and grinned.

“Nope. Come on, it’s not like you’re short on dirt on me, is it?”

“True.” Malcolm smiled gently, then straightened up. “Well, to answer your question: no and I’m not looking. We’re here to explore space, not each other’s beds.” Trip laughed at the proper tone and scathing words.

“Not a fan of fraternising?”

“No.” The server came to clear their plates and they ordered dessert. “Why the interest?” Malcolm asked when they were alone again. “Have _you_ got your eye on anyone?” Trip took another drink to stall; Malcolm’s eyes began to sparkle as he caught the scent.

“Not exactly.” Trip hedged. “There’s someone I’m not _un_ interested in, but as you said: it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate, would it?” Malcolm’s expression became unreadable.

“Does this person return your interest?”

“Haven’t a clue…but I doubt it.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“How about if I guess?” Trip snorted.

“Any excuse to play detective. Alright, I’ll give you a clue right now.” Malcolm leaned in and Trip’s throat closed up. _Damn._ He coughed and said casually. “Spent last night with ‘em.” Slowly, Malcolm sat back in his chair, evidently surprised. Trip went on. “Now don’t get me wrong, he’s a great friend and I want things to stay that way. Jus’ wasn’t sure how to make that clear.” Malcolm cleared his throat and said stiffly.

“You’re doing just fine and I think he’ll agree with you to keep things friendly. He- oh, God! Now I’m speaking in the third person, I hate it when people do that!” Trip smiled, relaxing at Malcolm’s little rant as it kicked them both out of the growing awkwardness. Sighing and beginning again, Malcolm went on. “You’re a good friend to me too and I don’t have many so, yes: let’s keep on with that.” Relieved that Malcolm was having just as much trouble emoting as he was, Trip grinned.

“I’d suggest we get drunk to make this easier, but my head still hasn’t forgiven me for yesterday.”

“Quite.”

“An’ if I didn’t say it already: thanks for looking after me.” Now enough time had passed he could laugh about it. “Thought I was fish food when that thing grabbed me!” Malcolm chortled.

“Your face! I will never forget that.” Trip pretended to grumble whilst drinking in Malcolm’s delight. Desert came and Trip waited for the server to leave again before saying.

“Since we’re more alike than we thought: if you ever need to unload then I’ll probably be able to relate, or try to anyway…”

“Likewise. I mostly try not to brood about things.”

“But they, what was it? ‘Stay with you’ anyway?” Malcolm put down his drink without drinking and his eyes went wide. Worried, Trip opened his mouth but Malcolm spoke then, voice hushed.

“Sorry, I just feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.”

“Something you ate?”

“No, not like that, just…this whole…thing on Risa. It seems all so implausible that you and I, we’d hit the perfect set of circumstances to open up enough to discover how alike we are, our experiences… It’s just, odd.”

“You mean the perfect amount of booze.” Trip quipped automatically before seriously considering it. “Well, it’s not without precedent, is it?” Malcolm nodded and Trip looked down at his soft drink. Then said philosopher shook his head, saying dismissively.

“Must be something in the air.” He raised his glass.

“To Risa, may we never forget.” Trip smiled, feeling the warmth of Bourbon in his stomach and the pressure of a hand clasping his in the dark as they toasted.

“May we never forget.”

…

The next morning dawned sooner than Trip would have liked. Though he’d gone to bed with a sober head and a warm heart, his usual nightmares had dogged him half the night. He woke up half-expecting to see a dark head of hair on the pillow beside him as a single good dream faded quickly from his consciousness. In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and told himself that he’d inexplicably earned that man’s trust. _Don’t fuck it up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap! We were without internet for a while, which was very frustrating to say the least. Last chapter needs a lot of work but I hope to get it up soon. Thanks for reading!  
> :D


	11. The End of the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave Part 1 & 2

They left Risa, and some of the crew’s shenanigans, behind them. Trip was glad that it hadn’t been him or Malcolm getting in trouble that time. He’d enjoyed hearing about Travis’ unfortunate mishap leading to Phlox bamboozling Cutler with his sleep deprived peculiarities. Though she’d been worried at the time, her impressions grew more exaggerated every time she retold the story. Poor Travis did make a full recovery and seemed to enjoy telling his side of the story to anyone who asked, so it all ended well.

The Captain was very economical with his words when describing his own holiday. Though it wasn’t like Trip had spouted sonnets about his own time, just keeping it to the basic facts: club, market, spa; he still thought that Jon would have had at least one story to relate. Didn’t Porthos get into trouble, mistaking a sacred plant for a potty? In fact, after the basic run downs, they didn’t mention their time on the pleasure planet to each other again; though Trip noticed the Captain glancing between him and Malcolm at some staff briefings. This confused and worried him. He didn’t think that he or Malcolm were acting any differently and Jon wasn’t a mind reader. So what was he thinking? Or maybe it was Trip’s anxiety flaring up again.

As per their routine after a shared trauma, Trip and Malcolm didn’t talk about what happened on the surface. If Trip thought about it for longer than a few seconds, he could tell that their shared understanding had deepened even further and he felt even more comfortable in the Brit’s presence. Whilst his ability to read Malcolm wasn’t infallible, he got the impression that the feeling was mutual. At least, he hoped it was.

…

Travis Mayweather was turning 26 years old. Of course, they had to celebrate. Though Trip was taken aback when he overheard a crewwoman remark to her friends that he was now the wrong side of 25. Trip was only 30 himself, and he didn’t feel old. Older than he’d been obviously, but he was still in his prime. Look at Jon, he was athletic and healthy as a horse. Those so inclined would only have to sneak a peek at him on the treadmill to see how in shape he was.

The whole crew – ‘old’ and young – had a party in the Mess which was filled with: balloons, confetti and other ‘luxury’ items that boomers didn’t often see. Travis was predictably delighted with it all and bounded around like a little kid, looking at everything. Trip spent most of the night chatting with Malcolm and Hoshi, their conversation occasionally interrupted by an enthusiastic Travis showing them another of his presents – he was a popular crew member. T’Pol put in her customary 5 minutes and the Captain made the rounds, checking in with everyone. Trip couldn’t help but smile at Travis trying to persuade Jon to put on a party hat. The Captain was obviously torn between maintaining his Captainly demeanour and joining in with the crew. Glancing across the room, he’d caught Trip’s eye and his mouth had twitched at the lopsided hat on his Commander’s head. Trip had raised his eyebrows in challenge and that had clinched it. Trip laughed at the sight, passing Malcolm his drink so he could take a snap of Travis and the Captain in matching green party hats. A perfect photo to go into the _Enterprise_ album and the Captain’s blackmail file.

…

A month later and Trip was looking forward to a nice first contact on a small mining colony. Little did he know that they’d never get the chance to meet the Paragaans in person.

One minute he was listening to T’Pol begin what would most likely be an incredibly boring protocol brief in the Shuttlepod and the next he was waking up in Sickbay. Phlox was distracted as he gave him a rundown of events, Trip feeling more and more sick as he listened. Jon was predictably devastated and Trip didn’t feel much better about their inadvertent destruction of the colony. If they hadn’t wanted to go down…

Then he was sneaking around a Suliban ship with the Captain and T’Pol, struggling to keep up with Jon’s whirlwind pace and inexplicable foreknowledge. Whilst he had complete faith in the Captain and his abilities, it was still disconcerting to not know where this was all coming from. Trip had his suspicions but he kept quiet, knowing that all would be revealed in time. Until it wasn’t.

Seemingly five minutes later: Trip’s world abruptly came to a halt. It was all catching up with them. All the misadventures suffered through, enemies gained and near-misses they’d had since they’d left space dock were converging on them now. Jon was leaving. Jon was going to his death. It was all Trip could do to keep from dashing over and holding him down, to unseal his mouth and beg, plead for mercy for his Captain. God, Jon’s voice as he made his farewells… This couldn’t be happening. He was dreaming. It was another, terrible nightmare and soon he’d wake up shaking and sweating but certain that none of it had been real.

Then the ship was being overrun with _them_. And she was just letting them! Hatred boiled inside him. When he’d been locked in his own damn quarters, he’d paced like a caged animal. Everything was falling apart. Jon was gone. Jon was probably dead. The world was ending, the crew was trapped, Jon was gone, they were probably all going to die, and there was nothing… The comm! He could reconfigure it, contact the others. Opening the panel with a handy tool from his pocket kit, he forced all of his concentration on the wires.

From there he was planning their breakout and faking a Warp breach. Then Jon was alive and Trip felt like a flower being bathed in warm sunlight after a long, cold winter. He was alive! Jon was living and breathing and joking and…Trip’s heart swelled so much his chest felt like it would burst. It wasn’t until they docked with the Vulcans that everything hit him again. He blinked, heady suddenly fuzzy, but there wasn’t time to rest, the meeting with the High Command and Starfleet quickly underway.

All that gritting their jaws under Vulcan condescension, re-doing calculations and watching their every move and word, always considering what those pointy-eared bastards would think every single step of their long march to Warp 5 and even still, on _Enterprise_ being hounded by the judgemental sneers had all been for nothing. They’d get their way and Trip’s exhaustion and stress had destroyed all his self-control. He almost regretted his outburst, seeing Jon’s sympathetic but admonishing face, but he still felt like someone needed to fight. He was still stewing in bitterness when T’Pol astonished them all. Not only did she stand up for them, but she shut Soval up! The mighty Ambassador couldn’t think of a single thing to say to their Science Officer’s lecture and had stormed out. Now Trip had seen everything. They were told to hurry up and wait and everyone went their separate ways to kill time until their Fates were decided. Trip considered heading for bed, but knew that he’d only stare at the ceiling, so headed for Engineering.

…

Hours later, he gave in to tiredness and went up to the Mess Hall for a coffee, but someone was using the drinks dispenser.

“Get the all clear?” T’Pol visibly straightened and tried to affect her typically condescending tone, but he could hear the crack anyway. Only because he was looking for it, but still.

“Obviously.” Trip leaned against the wall and watched her get her green tea. The Mess Hall was empty except for them, given the late hour, so no one could overhear them. He still lowered his voice anyway.

“I was worried about you there for a minute.” The glare was up to her usual standard, but he’d never been affected by them so it didn’t stop him from going on. “When the Suliban grabbed you. You seemed,” he remembered how she’d described the Vulcan Elder way back when, “agitated.” She walked past him and out of the Mess, speaking as she went.

“It was an instinctual response.” He followed.

“Thought Vulcans didn’t feel fear.”

“It wasn’t fear.” She contradicted him. “It was a survival instinct.” They got into the lift, the small space filling quickly with tension. Trip was near exhausted from everything, but he knew he only had a small window to push a confession out of T’Pol. Wait too long and she’d have boxed it all up when he tried again. He hadn’t found a way to penetrate her shields when they were at a maximum; he wasn’t sure there even was a way. And anyway, he knew the minute that he crashed, all of _his_ unresolved issues would push screaming to the front of his mind. He planned his next words very carefully.

“I was just wondering if this…instinct could have been influenced by something other than the stress of the situation.”

“If there were anything, Commander, then it wouldn’t be any of your business.” His temper flared and he snapped.

“I know you Vulcans are so much better than us lowly humans, so humour me. I’m just practising this quaint habit of checking up on someone. It means you care enough about someone to make sure that they’re okay. That they’re not suffering in silence cos they’re too proud to admit they’re struggling.” She snapped back: ice cold.

“I am not struggling, Commander. And I do not appreciate the insinuation that I am unfit for my duties.” Frustrated, he rubbed his brow, acknowledging the futility even as he tried.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” The lift opened and she stalked out. After a beat he followed, half-jogging to catch up. “Hey! I just meant that if there _was_ something and you wanted to talk-”

“There isn’t and I don’t. Good night, Commander.” She said in a rush as she escaped into her room. The door slid shut in his face and he just stared at it for a long moment. God, he was tired. He blinked, debating whether to knock or not. She probably wouldn’t answer…but it would delay his inevitable self-torture session. All this fancy tech and science still couldn’t stop nightmares. No, if he pushed too much she might just break and snap his spine. Sighing, he turned towards his quarters and almost ran into the Captain.

“Whoa, you alright?” Mustering what little strength he had left, Trip quipped.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Mr Time-Traveller, sir?” The Captain managed a weary laugh but it was clear he wasn’t up for more than that.

“Get some shut-eye. We’ll be debriefing properly in the morning.” He paused. “They should have reached a decision by then.” Trip nodded just as his vision began to get blurry. He started staggering down the hall when he felt a hand on his arm. He blinked and Jon was standing there. “Your room’s this way, remember?” He squinted in the direction Jon was pointing. With no brain power left, he just shuffled forward, Jon’s hand gripping him tightly. He punched in the code to his quarters on automatic and stumbled in. Jon didn’t let go, following him in and parking him on the bed. He knelt down and tugged off Trip’s boots as Trip pulled his zip down clumsily. Putting the shoes to the side, Jon offered his shoulder for Trip to lean on as he pulled off his jumpsuit. Looking down at the top of his friend’s head as he stepped out of his uniform, Trip murmured sleepily.

“You died again.” Jon looked up, obviously confused. Their gazes met and stuck together for a long moment. Getting the idea, Jon sighed heavily and helped Trip lie down, tucking him in as he said soothingly.

“Everyone is fine. We’re all okay.” Trip nodded, eyes heavy.

“S’gonna happen ‘gain.” He didn’t hear Jon’s reply.

…

The next morning, the Captain announced that they would be allowed to continue their mission. There was some grumbling about the wording, but mostly people were relieved. There was a contingent that had been looking forward to returning to Earth, though no one seemed to have been happy with the prospect of a more permanent stay in dry dock.

As Trip predicted, T’Pol was back on form; not a hair out of place and all of her movements infused with her usual grace. Trip didn’t dare ask her how she was, especially as she kept on sending him warning glares whenever he so much as glanced in her direction. He was still exhausted. He’d managed to get a good few hours before the nightmares had started, so he was functional but nowhere near 100%.   _Enterprise_ and her crew were still intact and functional. He should be grateful. He hated himself for how little that thought comforted him.

He forced himself to concentrate on the debriefing and ignore both his fatigue and the conspicuously empty place where Lieutenant Reed should have been standing. Whilst Phlox had assured them that he would make a complete recovery, it would take at least another day for the swelling to go down and the contusions to heal completely – especially as the Lieutenant had refused the most effective, but gross, slug treatment. He’d argued his way onto the Bridge for the Vulcan/Human showdown the day before, but had been sent back down to fully recover afterwards. The doctor wanted to keep the Lieutenant under observation for another day to ensure there weren’t any complications from his severe concussion, much to Reed’s annoyance. Trip had tried to reassure the man that his team could handle things until he got back on his feet. A little surprised that Malcolm hadn’t fought harder to be released he’d made a mental note to check up on him later that day. Looking at that gap, the guilt strengthened. If only he’d thought of a better plan, Malcolm might not have been put in harm’s way. If only he hadn’t been so useless… All he’d contributed was bypassing the comm and faking the Warp overload, both Engineering ideas. T’Pol and Reed had handled the actual plan, without them they’d probably all be dead. Executed in their rooms…or maybe they’d be enslaved. Or… He felt his heart shredding itself just as it had all those years ago when Captain Jefferies had warned him.

_You’re an engineer...that is all you will ever be._

He snapped himself back to the present. They were meeting to see if they could do things differently next time. Because there would be a next time, of that Trip had no doubt.

…

After the happiness of _Enterprise_ staying on course faded, Trip found himself being dragged down into bitterness and anger. So Jon had been completely exonerated from his supposed responsibility over the tragedy. Bully for him. Not everyone was so lucky; some people actually had to live with guilt for the rest of their lives. Seeing the Captain striding along the halls and sitting on the Bridge with his usual confidence, Trip felt sick with envy. The ugly emotions disgusted him but he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop looking at his friend’s clear face and hate him just a little. Why did everything go Jon’s way? Of course Captain Perfect couldn’t ever really be brought down to the level of these lesser mortals, he was so much above everyone else. It didn’t help that Trip couldn’t sleep properly and was barely able to scrounge up enough energy to eat. He avoided interacting with the crew as much as possible, citing overdue paperwork and upgrades.

The fourth day after they started to continue their mission was First Contact Day: the day in which Vulcans first made contact with Humans. Whilst it wasn’t usually celebrated much – mostly just a day off from work or school – the crew decided that this year might be call to do something special. Hoshi had the idea of creating a slideshow of all their first contacts so far and displaying it after dinner. Trip had shrugged when presented with the idea and had barely contained his snarl when asked if there was a picture of the Xyrillians. Whatever his expression ended up being caused Hoshi to back away cautiously and mutter that she’d ask someone else.

Sitting at breakfast on the day, mostly ignoring Jon talking about his favourite first contacts so far, Trip felt his frustration and guilt built. All the terror, the pain and the heart-stopping near-misses and the Captain only talked about having tea with so-and-so or helping his sexy Alkali chemist. What about all the times they almost died? What about them? He heard the Captain say his name, and had to make an effort to try and understand it.

“Trip, what’s wrong?” Jon put down his orange juice and frowned at the breakfast table. Trip pushed his eggs around a bit more and couldn’t help but mutter like a petulant teenager.

“Nothing, according to you.” Abandoning his meal, Jon’s tone sharpened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Everything’s just peachy.” Jon’s temper broke.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Trip threw down his fork and raised his voice.

“Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? What, just because the Suliban planted the explosive, that means we’re all innocent?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It isn’t that easy! You can’t sweep it under the rug, pretend it never happened. Oh well, we almost blew up but we didn’t so it’s all fine.”

“I don’t-” Jon huffed, confusion slowing him down before he dismissed it and ordered. “If you have something to say _Commander_ , then come out with it!” The door slid open before Trip could accept this invitation and T’Pol slid in.

“Apologies, I was…” She trailed off as she sensed the tension in the room. Unperturbed by the audience, the Captain hissed at the Commander.

“Well?” Ashamed by his loss of control and his weakness, Trip couldn’t bring himself to speak. His eyes fell to the table and he shook his head once. Slowly, T’Pol took her seat in the icy silence and began to serve herself. Then the Captain was commed to take a call from Starfleet Command and Trip excused himself to Engineering.

He spent all day catching up with paperwork and completing tasks he easily could have delegated. Malcolm was back on full duty and Trip managed to keep all his messages to the Armoury professional and refrained from inventing a reason to visit. He knew if Malcolm saw him then he’d immediately figure out that something was wrong and try to help. Whilst Trip knew that he probably needed a friend right now, he was also too hurt and tired to accept help.

Finally, his inbox was clear and he realised that it was past dinnertime. No invite from the Captain. The presentation probably had finished too. He wondered what it had been like, had they only included the friendlies or were there references to the bad ones too? Had the Captain gone? He swallowed. He had to clear the air. The longer he delayed, the worse it’d be. It was time to face the music. He went up to the Captain’s quarters and pressed the chime, tasting blood at the back of his throat. When the door opened, he forced himself to say.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Jon blinked before letting him pass.

“Yeah. Actually, I was meaning to…Come in.” Trip stepped into the room almost gingerly, looking around at everything but his friend. Jon started.  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” Feeling a little lighter by Jon’s olive branch, Trip sighed and mirrored him.

“Me too.” Looking a little at a loss, Jon sat on the bed and toyed with his water polo ball. Trip sat beside him. He took a deep breath and confessed. “I know what it’s like to have deaths on your conscience.” Jon frowned.

“Why? You weren’t responsible.” No going back now, Trip plunged.

“I’m not talking about the Paragaan colony. I’m talking about _Daedalus_.” Jon’s frown deepened.

“The Daedalus Project?” Trip nodded tightly and Jon blinked. “Why on Earth would you feel guilty about that? It was…” he swallowed, “over before you even joined Starfleet.” Staring at his hands, Trip mumbled.

“Got your dates wrong. I was 19 in 2140, Jon.” He breathed in and out deeply. “I was an Ensign on the Maintenance Crew.” Jon thought for a moment and then said gently, searchingly.

“You’ve never mentioned this before.” Trip held back a sigh.

“Isn’t something I like to mention. Or think about, or remember.” Jon nodded in understanding before questioning.

“So…you were on the Maintenance Crew?” Trip nodded slowly. “Then you should know that you are _not_ in any way responsible for what happened.” Trip’s heart burned and squeezed and he grit his jaw to keep from crying out. He told himself that he’d never told Jon because it was classified, that he could be court-martialled. But deep down he admitted that he trusted Jon with his life, of course he could trust him with this secret; the real reason was much more cowardly. He was afraid of how Jon would look at him if he knew. Voice shaking, he forced out.

“I was on the Bridge that morning. Me and Annie, we were running the final tests of the EPS grid.” He swallowed. “I saw Crewman Shirley and Ensign O’Hara go to their stations, initiating the start up.” His eyes prickled and his voice cracked. “Why didn’t I say anything?”

“You couldn’t have known.” But Trip wasn’t listening, breath speeding up as he leapt up suddenly.

“They’re all dead, Jon!” He began pacing in the small space, hands waving. “It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t know! They were vaporised! They’re nothing! Just…bits of dust.” Jon got up too and stopped him, both hands on his shoulders he squeezed.

“Hey, hey…easy. Easy.” Trip choked on his next breath and sobbed a little. Jon hugged him close, one large hand on the back of Trip’s head, holding him securely and muttering comforting things. Reciprocating, Trip held on desperately, so grateful for Jon’s warm and steady comfort. After a while, Trip managed to recover his breathing and pulled back, realising that at some point Jon had manoeuvred them to sit down again. Now, with embarrassment beginning to surface, he saw to his dismay that Jon wasn’t about to let him change the subject, immediately asking. “You ever talk about this with anyone?” Throat still full of pins, Trip half-shrugged.

“Couldn’t…”

“It was a tragedy. It wasn’t your fault.” Jon didn’t know the whole story. Jon would hate him if he knew. But still, Trip felt himself slumping with relief. He wiped his eyes, sniffing. Jon dug up some tissues which Trip took gratefully. Watching him make himself presentable, Jon asked quietly, voice strange.

“You’ve been living with this for 12 years?” Trip blinked. Had it really been that long? Sometimes it felt like it had only happened the day before. Avoiding Jon’s eyes, he shrugged.

“It’s not usually this bad. Comes and goes, you know?”

“How often?” Jon’s tone was hard; he wouldn’t be fobbed off by false platitudes. Trip swallowed and confessed.

“Sometimes when we get into a firefight I…I get nightmares after.” He avoided his friend’s gaze, not sure what emotion would be there. After a beat of silence, he decided that he didn’t want to find out. He blurted. “Sorry, for dumping this all on you.” He made to stand. “I should-”

“Stay with me tonight. Excellent idea.” Frozen with his hands on his knees, Trip turned his head and stared. Jon’s gaze was steady and open; no judgement, disappointment, pity…Eventually, Trip managed to ask stupidly.

“What?” Jon stood.

“I think I’ve got some spare pillows somewhere, unless, how many do you need?” He walked over to his closet space, glancing back to check Trip’s reaction. “You really want to be alone tonight?” To which of course, he knew the answer was ‘no’. Still, they hadn’t spent the night together since _that night._ Seeing his hesitation, Jon pursed his lips. “Unless…you were planning on going somewhere else.” Trip’s mind flashed to Malcolm, remembering holding hands on the bed in Risa, but then they had already said they would keep it friendly. It would probably send the wrong signals to request to stay the night. Jon looked like he was about to start pacing and Trip thought that maybe he needed someone there as well. They could still do this. At least if he woke in the middle of a night in a panic, he could confirm Jon was still alive and well pretty much immediately.

“One pillow’s fine for me.” Jon’s smile – half-relief, half something else – made Trip’s heart flutter. As they were both already in sleep clothes, Trip just toed off his shoes as Jon made sure Porthos was comfortable for the night. A little awkwardly, they got under the covers as far away from each other as they could. Trip lay stiffly, feeling Jon’s tense body across from him. After a long while of staring at the ceiling, he sighed. “If I get too clingy,” he shifted over and Jon opened his arms, “just pinch me.” He held his breath as he settled down, draped over Jon’s left side. A strong arm curled around him, pulling him in closer. The air left his lungs in a rush and on the inhale, Jon’s scent almost overpowered him.

“No danger of that.” Jon murmured, his breath ruffling Trip’s hair slightly. His body was warm and firm and Trip felt himself dropping off.

He had no idea what would happen when he woke up the next morning. All he knew that he was safe tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I was originally planning to do all the seasons, but I'm not sure now. I need to watch season 2 again and see if the muse takes me.  
> Any feedback welcome and thanks again! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any comments are welcome.  
> :D


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